


Of Braids, Towers and Moonlight

by NameLess_FaceLess_FormLess



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, Tangled (2010), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Gen, Human Smaug, Inspired by Tangled (2010), M/M, he´s basically like maleficent, unrealistic hair stunts may occur, warlock smaug to be exact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 60,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11904303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NameLess_FaceLess_FormLess/pseuds/NameLess_FaceLess_FormLess
Summary: A thief fleeing with his spoil finds refuge in a strange tower and encounters its even stranger inhabitant, who suspiciously resembles a character from a bedtime story. Because his hair is glowing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again! It feels forever ago since I finished Into the Woods so I was pretty anxious to write something new and this came out of nowhere, so...yeah. Lemme know what you think!

“Some think that every proper fairy tale must start with a princess. A princess being born, a princess being cursed, a princess being kidnapped. Princesses don´t have it easy. They are most likely to end up comatose or sitting on their butts, waiting for a rescue that arrives in a form of a hunky, equally royal specimen that defeats the evil or gives them a healing kiss. They really don´t have it easy. This story, however, suffers from a severe lack of princesses.

As it usually happens, once upon a time, in a land far far away, a king and a queen took liking to the idea of having a child. They had everything else, from a materialistic point of view, they were just and beloved by their subjects, and on top of that drop-dead gorgeous. The queen was the fairest of them all, so beautiful the stars faded in her presence (to her great sadness because she really liked looking at the stars) and the king, well, virtually the same.

But as usual, something was missing and that was a baby. They tried, yet their trying was as pointless as imaginable. Potions, special diets, even spells, everything failed miserably and the queen was blaming herself, sinking deeper and deeper into despair. Of course, the king couldn´t just sit by and watch it happen, he loved his wife! So he went to seek help to the Underground kingdom.

Now, I don´t want to delve into this whole racial thing, but just to ilustrate – the king of the Woodland kingdom asking the king of the Underground kingdom for help was probably as probable as the moon having a tea party with the sun.To make long story short, they didn´t like each other. This was a matter of family, however, not politics or race. And family was very important in the Underground kingdom, their royal family itself was huge. The pitiful sight the Woodland king presented softened his rival´s heart and the ruler of the Underground let him in on a secret.

There was a heavily guarded open shaft in their mines, where a special golden vein was struck centuries ago. Every night a ray of moonlight somehow found its way inside the shaft and it made the vein glow. The gold from this vein had miraculous healing powers and the people of Underground turned to it in times of dire need. Golden nuggets were turned into powders and potions that were said to be even capable of curing _death_. It ran very thin now, but the king of Underground agreed to give up what was left so the Woodland queen could have a child. In return he asked for one favour of uncertain character that he might one day ask of his fellow monarch, if needed. Given the opportunity, he really wanted to get as much out of this as possible, only didn´t know what _exactly_ he wanted to get.

The gold worked and the queen gave birth to a wonderful baby boy. See, _normally_ it would be a girl, but as I said, this story suffers from a severe lack of princesses. Everyone was happy and celebrations ensued, which lasted for almost the entire first year of the young prince´s life. He was beaming with good health. When his hair started to grow, it was the color of white gold and glowed in the moonlight, just like the vein.

That´s where things started to go awry, see. I mean, if you have something as amazing as a health-giving golden vein, it´s impossible to keep it a secret, no matter how hard you try. There were quite a few, who wanted to get their hands on said miracle and who were mightily angered when they learned the vein had dried out. Now add a child with glowing hair to this formula and the result is a very heartbreaking distaster. There was this one year old toddler and basically everyone who had every sought eternal youth or even immortality was after him.

Iroically, none of those bad guys got to him. It was someone whose motivations were completely different, shallow, and quite honestly, kind of stupid. There was this warlock, a very powerful one, who was once laying waste to kingdoms twice the size of the Woodland realm in a form of a huge, fire-breathing dragon. This warlock loved the magical vein for a single reason. It was _shiny_. He didn´t need its powers, he already was in good health and prone to living incredibly long, he just enjoyed how it shone in the moonlight. When he arrived to the shaft just to find the vein was gone, he was way more enraged than was rational. He searched for something that would give him the same joy but there wasn´t a thing in the world equal to the beauty of the vein. Frustrated, he roamed the world, collecting unsatisfactory shiny objects and occasionally setting something on fire.

Then the news about the boy with glowing hair reached him. Well, and the rest is history. The warlock found the kingdom and the child, and the last time the queen saw her son was when he was prying him from the king´s arms. The child was gone. Search parties were sent to every corner of the land and further but with no results whatsoever. Because whenever a warlock kidnaps someone, they make sure they are hidden well. Very, very _well_.

At first the king and the queen kept holding onto the hope. Each year, on the day of the prince´s birthday, the whole kingdom gathered in the streets and sang a song for the lost heir to the throne. Their voices were heard far, carried by the wind, but nobody knew if they ever reached the prince. The queen faded every day, overpowered by grief, and eventually she had given up on everything and passed away, leaving the kingdom mourning once again.

Somebody somewhere might have lived happily ever after, but it sure wasn´t the Woodland royal family. The end.“

“Congratulations, that was oficially the worst ending to the worst good-night tale I have ever heard,“ Bard looked up from his work when Sigrid had finished her story.

She chuckled: “Thanks!“

“I liked it,“ Tilda voiced her opinion from under the blanket.

She had lost one woolen sock during her sister´s telling and now was looking for it.

“Really?“ Bard raised his eyebrows. “A fairytale that ends where a normal one would begin?“

“It´s creative,“ Sigrid said, purposely with as much smug in her tone as possible, “you probably wouldn´t understand, father!“

“Whatever you say, darling,“ Bard laughed and returned to repairing his shoe.

The sole had come off and since it was his only pair of shoes, he really needed to fix it. It was going way worse than he had expected. Tilda yawned, turned to her side and started working on falling asleep. Sigrid adjusted her blanket and then went to sit down with her father.

“Where´s Bain? He should have been home an hour ago,“ she said quietly.

“He´s doing a bit of scouting for me, don´t worry,“ Bard replied and hissed a curse when he scratched his thumb.

Sigrid frowned and rubbed the deep line that formed between her eyebrows. “I don´t want you doing this, da. It´s one thing to pick a few rich pockets or grab some things on the market place, but this... this is out of your league.“

“Your faith in my abilities is truly staggering,“ Bard mumbled.

“You know very well what I mean!“ Sigrid raised her voice briefly. “What will we do if you get caught, huh?“

He put aside a shoe and took both of his daughters hands in his own. “Sigrid, this is the last job. The last of the last, I promise. If we pull this off and we get the money, we pack our bags and we are leaving! It will change our lives. I swear.“

“I know, I know,“ Sigrid sighed heavily, “I know all of this, but that doesn´t stop me from imagining a disaster.“

“No disaster. Trust me.“


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we´re off! There´s still a few things to figure out, but then I think it´ll really take off :) Any comments on anything are welcome! Enjoy! <3

The windowsill was the least practical and yet Thranduil´s favourite place to think. Sitting there, feet dangling a dangerous amount of metres above ground, his mind was as clear as the sky. Not that he had too much to think about. Everything was always within the reach of his hand and he didn´t have a single worry. So he thought about the one thing his father didn´t want him to think about – the outside world.

It looked so beautiful, full of colours and gorgeous sunsets, smells of flowers and the sound of rain... but Smaug never failed to remind Thranduil that it is in fact dangerous, treacherous and bent on destroying him. Thranduil wanted to be sceptical but there was a dark cloud at the back of his mind, something traumatic that he didn´t remember precisely, only as a feeling and a bunch of shapes and indistinct sounds that were unpleasant enough to make him believe the outside world really was a danger to him.

It was because of his hair. Lots of people would like to get their hands on Thranduil´s hair, his father made it very clear to him on several occasions. Thranduil believed him. His hair really was special. They never cut it, not once, father said that it would ´ruin the magic´. Thranduil wasn´t sure what kind of magic was that, as long as he was concerned, all his hair ever did was glow in the moonlight. But father always seemed utterly thrilled just by the sight of it and Thranduil was always happy to make his father happy. After all he protected him from his birth to this day. He deserved that pinch of happiness that he got out of watching Thranduil´s hair shine.

He came every day just before the sunset, brought food and sometimes wine, they cooked dinner together and talked about their day. There was never too much to talk about in Thranduil´s case, but Smaug always had a story to tell. When he was younger, Thranduil adored these stories but as he grew older, they seemed to be losing their charm. Respectively, their charm remained intact, Thranduil just didn´t want to hear about things anymore, he wanted to get out and see them, touch them and feel them on his own. Which he couldn´t, according to Smaug.

* * *

In a way, Smaug loved the child. He adored everything beautiful, his entire life revolved around such things, so he also loved Thranduil. Like one loves a crystal statue. Or a really big diamond.

The boy grew more beautiful every year and with each year Smaug became more and more determined to never let anyone else lay eyes on him, ever. He thought about it every evening when they sat down to brush Thranduil´s hair. It got very long but Smaug absolutely refused to cut it. He would instead sit with his stolen treasure for hours and brush and brush and brush. Just letting the light pass through his fingers was now among the biggest joys in his existence.

He still shamelessly hoarded everything shiny and sparkly he came across during the day, but everything grew pale in comparison to Thranduil. Smaug panicked at the thought of losing him because he knew nothing else could posibly satisfy his hunger for treasures anymore.

When he had first learned about the miraculous child, he knew there were going to be others. Those who had wanted the vein now wanted the boy, for stupid reasons such as eternal life and similar nonsense! They annoyed him. Whenever a wizard or a witch with these intentions crossed his path, he sealed their fate with a special kind of joy.

* * *

“How would you feel about, let´s say, pecan pie?“

“Sure, why not,“ Thranduil shrugged and kept absentmindedly gazing into the sky.

Clouds were turning red at the bottom. It was always strange to hear father say mediocre things, such as ´pecan pie´, it didn´t feel right coming out of a mouth of someone like him, appearance-wise. He was too tall and too dark and his eyes were too piercing for him to be saying ´pecan pie´.

“What´s the matter?“ Smaug asked, putting aside the bowl.

Thranduil shook his head. “Nothing. Pecan pie sounds good.“

“I have a feeling this isn´t about the pie at all!“ Smaug´s voice took the ultimate fatherly tone that strongly resembles patting someone on the back. “Tell me what´s on your mind, won´t you? You can always talk to me, you know that.“

“I just don´t want to argue, that is all,“ Thranduil sighed and climbed down from the window.

Smaug made his best confused face. “Who said anything about arguing?“

“You know very well what I mean, father.“

“Were you thinking about the ouitside world again?“ Smaug raised an eyebrow in a pretend calm, but Thranduil knew the mere thought of it agitated him.

“Way too much even for my own taste,“ he admitted, “I can´t help it. I´m a grown man and I´ve never set foot outside this tower. The window is as close as I get to grass, trees, sunlight! Of course I keep thinking about it. Whether you like it or not.“

“Perhaps you were right,“ Smaug replied, suddenly very focused on stirring, “perhaps we shouldn´t talk about it after all.“

Thranduil scoffed, pushed aside the hair and sat down onto a pile of burgundy pillows. This was more or less how all the conversations on this topic ended. Either in a passive agressive change of a subject or in a downright argument.

“Don´t be angry with me, treasure,“ Smaug spoke after a while.

The sound of pecan nuts being crushed mixed into his voice. _Crunch crunch_. Thranduil wondered why he was picking up all these strange details all of a sudden.

“You know I only want to protect you,“ Smaug continued, “the world is a rotten place. I know the tower can be frustrating but trust me, you´d be grateful to return here if you ever got out.“

“I know, I know.“

“Then let´s have no more talk of this.“

* * *

After Smaug left Thranduil realized why his presence was so aggravating this time. He always spoke to him like one would speak to a child, his manner of doing it actually barely changed over the years and this had been the first time it seriously ruffled Thranduil´s feathers. As if he had aged overnight and suddenly couldn´t deal with this anymore.

Whenever he inquired about his true age, it lead into the same dead end as the debates about the outside world. Smaug insisted Thranduil was eighteen years old but Thranduil himself found that hard to believe. His physique alone hinted a higher number and the patterns of weather outside would suggest the winter came twice a year. A five-year-old would guess that is not right.

The reason Smaug was lying about Thranduil´s age was in fact very simple – if Thranduil had known he wasn´t exactly the confused fragile youth Smaug made him believe he was, it would have been much easier for him to justify his desire to leave and probably even do so. Eighteen-year-olds were, after all, still a bit fresh and not really adults yet. Those who were pushing thirty, not so much.

Thranduil watched the night drape itself over the forest like a blanket and frowned at the moon, when the cloud hiding it drifted to the side. His hair gradually brightened up, reaching its full glowing potential within seconds and iluminating the entire room with a soft yellowish light.

Anyone who would happen to be around and see this, would undoubtedly think there was a star trapped inside that tower.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for the feedback, guys! It´s very appreciated and keeping the author sane XD I hope you´ll enjoy the chapter, any notes are welcome!

_Sigrid might have been right._

Bard was looking up at the roofs that were supposed to substitute a path under their feet for the entire time of the action, and has serious, truly serious doubts. They went over the plan approximately three thousand times but talking about jumping from one roof to another and such was still quite different than actually doing it. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Are you ready?“

One of the three others that were up for this craziness, Samuel, appeared next to him. His breath smelled of liquor, he had probably drunk to jump start his courage or for some other not entirely reasonable... reason.

“I guess,“ Bard nodded.

He really just wanted to get this over with. Despite not mentioning it to his accomplices, he wasn´t comfortable with stealing this specific item. The Crown of the Lost Prince was, however, the most valuable thing in the whole of kingdom and could make them a lot of money. Enough money to completely abandon the life he and his children had led up to this point and to start functioning as a normal part of society.

Bard wasn´t proud of raising his children to be thieves. But things had just happened. To be more exact, Bard losing his job happened and initially stealing had been just a temporary means of making a living. It had lasted for several years though, and Bard´s discontent with this way of life grew.

Taking the crown was unpleasant to him for other reasons. It was called The Crown of the Lost Prince for a reason and Bard still vividly remembered the wave of sadness that washed over the land the day it had been announced the prince had been stolen literally from his father´s hands. Sigrid´s bedtime story hadn´t exactly helped either.

It itself, a fairy tale based on these events, had started to go around the kingdom several years after it had happened. Nobody knew for sure if it had been a warlock who had taken the prince, or if the prince had really been born thanks to magic but that didn´t matter. What had happened had ruined the kingdom as the people had known it, it had taken their queen and had destroyed their king. King Oropher had withdrawn from the public completely and it had seemed and the same had went for his rule. Various appointed adversaries, senators and whatnots ruled the kingdom instead of him, or at least it appeared so. Nobody blamed him for abandoning his people, at least not out loud they didn´t. The streets would fill on the prince´s birthday nevertheless and people sung nevertheless.

It was all this sadness that made Bard think twice before agreeing to take part in stealing the crown. The other three men appeared to have no issues with it though, and the prospect of money was very promising.

The crown was heavily guarded all day every day. It partly served as a tombstone. The access to the room was possible only through a small window, barely big enough to let an average adult through. They chose the other Samuel for the task of coming through said window, because he was without the doubt the smallest one of them. They even called him the Small Sam, whereas the first Sam, the one who was making sure Bard was indeed ready, was just regular Sam. The regular Sam was now pushing Bard forward. They ascended the wall in five minute intervals, since a whole group of men climbing the wall would be a bit obvious, and it was Bard´s turn to climb. Also the very last chance to turn back, which he didn´t.

The key to not falling was simply not to look down. One stone after another, Bard reached the top and frankly couldn´t believe he hadn´t plummeted into his death. The tiles of the roof were slippery but Small Sam walked on them as lightly as he would on the firm ground. One after another they crossed to the other side where they had to jump down, onto a very narrow windowsill, so they could continue on another roof ridge. Overall it was too many jumps and windowsills and roof ridges for Bard´s taste.

The window was somewhat smaller than he remembered, but Small Sam didn´t seem worried. They could see the crown through it, sitting on a velvet cushion. The room was huge, every sound echoed in it. Small Sam was to be lowered on a rope, as quietly as possible, grab the crown and be pulled back up, meanwhile two men would be handling the lowering and pulling, with the remaining one on a lookout.

The regular Sam and Bard were handling the rope. A lot depended on them, while the last man of their group (whose name Bard had forgotten and strongly suspected it was just regular Sam´s small brother who had to be taken along, otherwise he would´ve cried) was virtually just casually standing around. The jobs here were divided rather unevenly.

They opened the window and waited for two minutes, to make sure that any sound the guards could possibly hear would be dismissed as nothing. Then Small Sam crawled into the opening, very much resembling a spider. He didn´t make the rope creak, which had been everyone´s greatest worry when planning. But Small Sam managed.

Bard, on the other hand, had more doubts – his hand were doing as much of a good job as he had anticipated, and he was positive his nervous breathing was heard over three streets at least.

From a logical point of view, the unguarded window was quite a flaw in the otherwise impeccable protection of the crown. Nobody had assumed someone would be dumb enough to bother with the access through the roof, so all the guards´backs were turned to it.

Small Sam´s fingers locked around the crown. Bard and regular Sam started to pull him back up. He hid the crown under his jacket to avoid possible light spots.

Some three metres under the window the knot begun to loosen.

It had been done properly and tied tightly, but clearly not enough to carry a weight of a grown man, no matter how lean he was.

They should´ve gotten a better rope because now they were stuck. There was no way Small Sam could be lowered, for obvious reasons, and they couldn´t pull him up because the knot would come undone and Small Sam would fall. If not to his death then certainly into the hands of the guards.

There it was, the cold sweat, the disaster Bard had promised Sigrid was not going to happen. He was panicking and couldn´t read a single emotion in regular Sam´s or Whatever-his-name-was´face. Yet nobody appeared to know what to do next.

Except for Small Sam. After some four minutes of clueless and heavy silence, his face lit up with an idea. He signalled Bard and regular Sam to lean back and then, with a single smooth movement of his arm threw the crown. It flew through the window, glistened in the sun and in the very moment it succumbed to gravity again, the knot failed and Small Sam fell.

Simultaneously, Bard reached for the crown and lost his balance. A sharp roof tile painfully dug into his back when he toppled backwards and slid down into the street.

It was a pretty long fall during which Bard´s mind was completely blank. No life flashing in front of his eyes, just blank. The he hit what fortunately wasn´t the ground but a wagon full of bags of flour, parked at the back door of the castle´s kitchen. It hurt, but was undeniably better than splattering in the dust like an overripe tomato. He caught his breath and rolled to the side, immediately tucking the crown under his coat.

A troop of guards rushed by, Small Sam triggered the alarm whether he had survived his fall or not. Bard slid down from the wagon and crouched behind the wheel until he was certain the air was clear. The honorable version of what should happen next would probably include going back and trying to get the others. The logical version, on the contrary, would include running as fast and as far as possible.

Bard chose to act logically.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This was supposed to be out two days ago, but writer´s block happened and it happened pretty hard, so... yeah. Sorry.
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback, ily guys <3 This is more or less one of those chapters you don´t really ever want to write but you gotta because without it nothing else can happen, so it´s long and I´m not really happy with it. I still hope you´ll enjoy it though.
> 
> Lemme know what you think! :3

The day usually started in orange and golden tones of the sun rising. Thranduil would got up, give himself a minute or two to fully wake up, then stretch a bit and make something for breakfast. Although ´make´would be probably too much of a strong word, it mostly required just to pick up some fruit and yesterday´s bread.

Then came the brushing. Definitely the most physically challenging task he had to perform during the entire day. It took three hours, including breaks, if Thranduil really got into it. Dragging around such an amount of hair had side effects that were unfortunate, slightly gross at times, but absolutely unavoidable. Dust, splinters, occasional spiders... sure the hair was magical but it certainly didn´t repell any of those things.

After that, lunch. By now sun was way high up and everything outside was bright and lively, or gray and depressing, depending on the weather and amount of clouds. Thranduil was a good cook. Or considered himself one, he didn´t really have anything to compare his cooking with, but knew several dozen meals from scratch and Smaug had certainly never complained.

Cooking was fun. Cleaning afterwards not so much, yet it had to be done. Sometimes it stretched way into the afternoon, sometimes Thranduil had time to read or draw or move around the furniture, or simply sit on the windowsill and stare into the distance.

Then Smaug would come. Thranduil often wondered why, since he was so obsessed with how valuable the hair and its powers were, he never brought a grappling hook. How difficult it could be, to get a grappling hook out there. They could avoid all the unnecessary discomfort that came with using hair to climb a tower without door.

They dined, talked, he left. That was it. The sky turned purple and very beautiful. A simple, organized day.

_It usually didn´t include strange men crawling into the window with arrows sticking out of their backs._

* * *

Generally speaking, captain Redgrave liked his job. It was well payed, quite comfortable and easy, because people in the capital were surprisingly nice and not prone to crime, especially around the castle. Nobody yelled, stole anything or even ran in the proximity of the palace. It was overall a very quiet place. Guarding it was like guarding a rose garden.

That was the reason it took Redgrave those fatal few seconds to move, when the rucus began.

The crown was gone and a small man was growning on the ground in the middle of a circle of guards who were caught completely... well, of guard.

“I think there´s more of them outside, sir!“ someone said.

“Oh you gotta be kidding me,“ Redgrave sighed. “Fine, you, you two and you, get out there and bring those supposed ´more´ to me, I´m going to king, since nobody else clearly wants to do that anyways.“

The small man didn´t put up any fight, his ribs or something else was certainly broken. He looked content, however, so whatever he and his comrades had been trying to pull off here, it had probably worked.

Probably, pff. _Certainly_. The crown was gone, wasn´t it?

Delivering bad news to the king was an ungrateful job and everyone wanted to avoid it as much as possible. There was no punishment or yelling or anything for bringing bad news, it was just very unpleasant because no matter what you did or didn´t do, you always ended up feeling like whatever had happened was somewhat your fault.

“The king is in the gardens, sir.“

“Thank you.“

The gardens were in fact a forest trapped in the centre of a building. Trees and everything that grew was allowed to do so freely, as long as it didn´t immediately threaten the stability or safety of the building. A rather large family of deer occupied it, a breed one rarely saw in the wilderness. They were white as snow, with soft hides and awlways gained a lot of fur in the winter months.

Captain Redgrave found the king at the small lake on the western end of the garden, petting a fawn. He looked up when he heard the guard´s steps. He appeared to be in one of his better moods, since there was almost a smile to speak of on his face.

“Captain. What brings you here?“ he asked.

“Not anything good, I´m afraid,“ Redgrave sighed.

The king´s expression remained unchanged. He patted a seat next to him and the captain sat down, twisting the rim of his jacket in his hands.

“There was a breach in the treasury. They took the crown,“ he said, staring into the ground. “We have one of them, I sent a few men after the other... or others. The bottom line is, the crown is gone and we are... working on it. Your Majesty.“

“That is... unfortunate.“

Redgrave waited for a bit more but it seemed that this was going to be the king´s only reaction. He kept petting the fawn and the small creature kept pushing its nose into his palm.

When the silence, disturbed only by the sounds of nature, grew too long, the captain decided to adress the king again.

“Oropher?“

“Huh?“

“Are you with me?“

The king nodded. “Yes, yes... the crown was stolen and all that...“

“I expected you to be... more upset,“ Redgrave admitted, strangely relieved.

“I am!“ Oropher nodded quickly. “I just feel like being visibly upset would be offensive to your abilites.“

It was either a compliment or a passive agressive reminder that if the crown is not found, the king would start being _visibly upset_. One never knew with Oropher.

* * *

Bard went for the city gates. He assumed he had just a few minutes before the city was going to be sealed and thoroughly searched. He briefly considered tossing the crown into someone´s open window and be done with it, but his fingers continued to close around it as if they had its own mind.

He needed to look less like someone fleeing the city and more like someone _leaving_ the city. He needed a horse. A luggage. At least he had a bag. That was something. He stuffed the crown inside, under the rope and some other stuff they had taken with them and hadn´t needed at the end.

People´s eyes were beginning to turn to the palace, which was highly undesirable for him at the moment. He sped up, trying to reach the periphery before the news of the theft would. With everyone looking to the castle, it was going to be very easy for the guards to grab the only one who _wasn´t_.

Bard took a sharp right turn and disappeared into a very narrow pasage between houses. He vaguely remembered a shortcut he used to use as a child. It probably didn´t exist anymore but at least it got him away from the main street. Somewhere behind his back he heard the sound of a trumpet. They were assembling a team of riders. It was possible to cover the city much quicker on a horse´s back. Did Small Sam live and say something? Most likely. Bard wouldn´t blame him. He doubted anyone else had gone back for him or at least stopped to think about it.

One more turn and there was the gate. Bard still didn´t have a horse but he also didn´t have time anymore. There was a certain amount of people steadily going in and out, it was summer and it was comfortable to travel, so merchantes were coming to the city looking to sell anything that could be sold. An even some things that shouldn´t be sold, but ´shouldn´t´wasn´t the same thing as ´couldn´t´now, is it.

Bard took a deep breath and headed for the gate. He wanted to run but maintained a steady and seemingly calm pace that blended in with the rest of the stream. Look normal, keep walking. What would the king do to him if he got caught? Prison? Execution? Would Oropher actually cut someone´s head off because of a piece of jewellery?

The gate was close now, close enough for Bard to notice the guards were stopping people going out, talking to them and searching their pockets and bags. That was more than just a minor hiccup. The crown in his bag grew heavier. A carriage was slowly making its way forward in front of him. Bard could see bottles and boxes and smelled sweet wine. A sudden idea pushed him forward and he climbed into the back of the carriage. He stuffed the whole bag between two fat bottles of thick red wine and a box of plumes that were starting to go. Then he got off, as quietly and quickly as he got on.

They didn´t search the carriage. The coachman seemed to know one of the guards. Bard watched from a small distance as the men laughed about something together and then the carriage was let through.

Bard hurried forward. He didn´t have a bag now, which could raise suspicion, but he also didn´t have the crown. They frisked him without much interest. It was unpleasantly easy to get out, at the end.

The carriage was limping not very far from him. Bard waited for the distance between him and the gatekeepers to grow a bit more and then ran for the carriage. At the same time, eight guards on horses appeared at the gate. Bard was out in the open, there was nowhere to hide.

He grabbed the bag, knocking over one of the bottles. The wine immediately soaked into everything. He stayed inside the carriage until it reached the crossroad. One road continued to the woods, the other throuh the plains. _Around_ the woods. The merchant, of course, turned to the plains. Noone sane or at least _local_ wouldn´t drive their carriage full of goods through the woods. The bandits were mostly a rumoured but possible threat.

Once the carriage turned, Bard jumped out and bolted towards the woods. He heard the horses speed up and the guards shout and then a whooshing sound.

 _Arrows_.

_They were already shooting at him?!_

He disappeared between the trees, the riders stayed on the path. Bard wasn´t sure how much he wanted to get completely lost, he wanted to stay as close to the path as possible, but now he couldn´t. In addition to that, the sound of twigs breaking hinted at least one of the horses had left the path. So Bard kept running.

It was difficult, he couldn´t afford to trip and fall, yet that was exactly what was bound to happen at some point, he couldn´t see the surface under old leaves and thick layer of grass, one little hole and that would be it.

There were more and more trees as they drew closer to the centre of the forest. The guard following him would soon have to get down from the horse if they wanted to keep the pursuit going. Bard was short of breath at this point and started to consider just giving up both himself at the crown and pray the king would be merciful or at least _understanding._

He caught a peek of a clearing between the trunks. The horse behind him was slowing down notably and whinning in dissatisfaction when his master wanted him to keep going. Eventually he stopped completely. Bard thanked both gods and the horse.

Then came the whooshing sound again and this time it was followed by pain. The arrow hit him in the back, its impact minimised by the leather and wool, but not minimised enough not to pierce flesh. Even if not deadly, now it was hurting a _lot_. The hit was in a bad place, Bard couldn´t reach it to pull the arrow out. Cursing wasn´t helping much either but he was doing it anyway. This whole thing had gotte completely out of control and he _hated it_.

The clearing was smaller than it looked but the horses still couldn´t get there safely. They would have to go around and looked for a bigger space. The density of the trees around it was almost unnatural, they were growing so close next to each other it was difficult to see where one trunk ended and another begun.

_It was almost like a palisade._

Bard ran across the clearing and felt himself slowing down. He heard one voice shouting orders at the other and then sounds of hurried regrouping. He started to doubt his intial persuasion, that they were _certain_ he was guilty. He ran and that _made_ him guilty, maybe if he had simply walked into the woods, nobody would follow him.

Well, it was too late for that now. Bard allowed himself a break, leaning on what he assumed was an extremely old and large tree. There were trees in those woods that would need a whole platoon if they ever wanted a hug. It was the texture of this one that gave him the suspicion this wasn´t a tree.

It was a tower.

The stone was spotted with various mosses and had tiny mushrooms on it here an there. One roughly shaped boulder on another, it semed incredibly tall and old and no matter how many times Bard had circled it, there was no door.

Distant voices and whinning reminded him that he was still, to put it lightly, doomed as far as his escape was concerned. The though of climbing all the way up the tower with an arrow stuck in his back was riddiculous but Bard knew once he would return to the forest, they would catch up on him in no time. He adjusted the bag on his body, took a deep breath and started climbing.

Hopefully they wouldn´t look for him above their heads.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here comes the new chapter! Things are going to start happening now, pinkie promise! Any comments on anything are greatly appreciated :3 Love you all, enjoy!

“I need you very much not to scream right now. Please. Wherever you are. Or... whatever you are.“

Bard was lying on the floor, trying to catch his breath. When he had toppled into the window of this surprisingly lively tower, he had sort of lost it. The breath, that is. His back was soaked as climbing an extremely tall building hadn´t helped his wound at all and he was beginning to feel somewhat faint. And the crown managed to slightly impale him through the bag and clothes when he had fallen directly onto it.

The room was huge and clean and very cozy. So cozy Bard could appreciate even under such circumstances, which included pain, more pain, slight panic and also pain. But the thing that really caught his attention and even distracted him for a brief second was a disturbing amount of something strongly resembling hair coiling all around him. When Bard´s eyes tried to trace it to its source, he ended up looking pretty high up under the ceiling, where the sun couldn´t reach and the shadows were deep.

“I am armed! And I can fight! Just so you know!“ someone shouted from up there. “Now get out!“

It was a male voice. Given the hair, Bard would expect a forest sprite or a witch or something else improbable and potentially nonexistent. Then again, he didn´t care that much at the moment.

“I´m unarmed,“ he replied feebly, “I can´t fight, at least not right now, and I can´t get out. I won´t hurt you, I just need...I need to...“

The world fell apart in front of his eyes. The long run, the blood loss, climbing this tower, there was a limited amount of such thing a one man could take in one day. Especially when all of those things occured so close to each other.

* * *

Thranduil was crouching on the ceiling joist, nervously tugging on a strand of his hair. He couldn´t remember the last time he was this scared. Probably never. This was an entire new situation here, which was also something that happened rarely, or to be precise, _probably never_.

It was hours before Smaug would arrive. Thranduil was going to have to handle this on his own and if he was to be honest with himself, he didn´t have a clue how. The man who was currently losing consciousness on his floor didn´t seem like he was after his hair. He had probably no idea there was a tower in the woods. People _were supposed_ to have no idea about it, Smaug promised and swore to him a thousand times _people had no idea_.

Since Thranduil had been a child, his father kept insisting this was the safest place in the world, a world that wanted to destroy them, and now there was a bleeding man on his floor!

“I can handle this,“ Thranduil said to himself, “I _have to_ handle this. Alright. I am handling this now.“

It took him another two minutes but he eventually got down from the joist. And grabbed the first thing by his right hand, which happened to be... a pan. A pretty heavy pan, but still a pan. Thranduil shrugged. This would have to do for now. He wasn´t too keen on smashing someone´s head with a pan, nor was he ready to do so, not even in the moments of immediate danger, but it was quite comforting not to approach empty handed.

The man hadn´t completely sunken into oblivion yet. He seemed to be trying to gather himself while focuing especially on breathing. The wound didn´t look so bad in Thranduil´s opinion but he probably didn´t know enough about wounds to have a valid opinion. It was still bleeding quite a lot, he knew that for sure.

“That looks painful,“ Thranduil said carefully, “do you need... help?“

The man groaned. Thranduil decided to take it as a yes and was suddenly very nervous. This could very quickly become a ´bit off more than one could chew´ situation and he absolutely wasn´t ready for that.

The man didn´t look dangerous but he didn´t have to _look_ dangerous to _be_ dangerous. There was an overwhelming amount of brown in his appearance. Brown wavy hair, tanned skin, even his clothes seemed to be just various shades of brown. That is, except for the blood.

Thranduil shortly examined the intruder´s face. It was common, yet appealing. It had a warmth to it that his father´s face lacked, that pictures in books lacked, a feeling of _realness_. Thranduil liked his nose especially. It was cute.

He still wished Smaug was here.

Maybe.

* * *

This tottering on the brink of unconsciousness was worse than actual uncousciousness. Bard´s vision alternated between colorful smudges of the surroundings and the mysterious person that inhabited them, and complete inky nothingness. He felt someone lift him and heard the voice but was unable to recognize words. The a lot of pain followed, that couldn´t decide whether it wanted to push him deeper into the darkness or wake him up so it did neither... and then he opened his eyes.

The room was bright and lovely, like a picture in a book. Bard felt a soft mattress under his side. Also the absence of his shirt. Slowly, very slowly he lifted himself up. He was all patched up, clearly with a great effort because the amount of bandages seemed rather excessive for what he though must had been a small wound. His clothes were neatly folded on a chair next to the bed. Bard pulled the shirt on and looked around.

“Hello?“

No response.

The hair shuffled a little and Bard heard quick steps. Whoever lived here just hid behind the wardrobe. Bard sighed and got down from the bed.

“I´m not going to hurt you, alright?“ he said in a tone he usually reserved for Tilda when she didn´t want to have her bruised knee cleaned. “I´m going to get out of your hair now... literally. Okay?“

Still no response.

“Thank you for fixing my back,“ Bard added, “and, I don´t know, not murdering while I was passed out?“

It was weird expressing gratitude to someone he couldn´t even see properly. The silence was so tense he could practically feel it squishing him in its grip. Very uncomfortable. Especially with all the freakishly long hair around. It was so intensely weird Bard had forgotten he was on the run with something insanely valuable in his pocket for a second.

He remembered when he saw the bag. The crown was inside. Bard almost hoped his strange host had taken it and he could be done with this disaster.

_Sigrid will serve you this for breakfast for at least five years when she finds out._

Bard sighed. Right. He needed to get home. Out of these woods first and then home. And he needed to do something about the crown, there was no way he could keep carrying it around in his bag like this! Also he was hungry but that was not a priority at the moment.

“Is someone after you?“

Bard flinched. At this point he no longer expected the mysterious man to talk.

“Excuse me?“ he turned after the voice.

“Is someone after you, have you lead someone here? I need to know.“

Bard shook his head, vaguely remembering the guards getting lost behind him since they couldn´t get through the trees.

“I don´t think so. You´re safe. The forest around this tower is impenetrable.“

The voice hesitated. “But you got in.“

Bard shrugged. “Sure. But it wasn´t easy. And it was by mistake more than anything else, really.“

“Father said nobody should be able to get in. He said he made a barrier around us and...“

The voice sounded confused and a bit upset now. The hair around commenced a regular tugging motion, as if someone was nervously pulling at it.

“I guess you could count the weird tree growth in this area a barrier... look, I had hardly any time to look around,“ Bard said rather impatiently, “maybe there was a barrier, I don´t know! I´ll leave now and you...“

The voice stepped into the light.

It was a man, Bard assumed younger than him, tall, with light skin. His hair was darker at its roots, smooth and almost alive-looking, his face symetrical and more beautiful than most of the faces Bard had seen over the course of his life, maybe even all of them. Especially the eyes. Bard knew only one person whose blue could compare to this blue and that was Tilda, who kept a notable dose of it from her earliest years. He was holding a pan in front of him like a sword and a shield at the same time.

They stood looking at each other quietly for a bit more than just a moment.

Thranduil felt like he was just now fully realizing there was another person in his home, a person that _wasn´t Smaug_. It was strange, since he had undressed him and cleaned his wound and such, but up to this point, he had perceived him as one the scenarios in his head, instead of something that was actually happening.

And then there was the difference, the one Thranduil had noticed before, the warmth and realness of his presence.

Were people _supposed_ to be like this? _Was everyone else like this?_

Thranduil lowered the pan. He was experiencing doubt for the more or less first time and it wasn´t pleasant at all.

Bard could easily tell he was having some kind of an internal struggle, not only because he clearly changed his mind about the pan attack but because his face went from apprehensive to a whole mixture of feelings. It only enhanced Bard´s own feeling, which was that he should leave and bring this home invasion to a swift end. The man in front of him seemed like he had never saw another man in his entire life and that alone was strange. And the day was leaning towards evening now. Bard was positive he would never find his way out of the woods if he got lost there in the dark.

“Alright,“ he said, “thank you again for the help, I´m really sorry I barged in here like this, I´ll make sure noone... finds you.“

Thranduil stepped back and gesured towards the window. “You are welcome. Goodbye.“

However, as it often goes, the inconvenient situation managed to find a way to be even more inconvenient. Bard had barely touched the windowsill when a voice, strongly resembling an echo in a cave, came from below.

“Thranduil! I´m here! Let down your hair, treasure!“


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> I still haven´t beaten the block, that´s why this took forever despite it being quite short. My school starts on monday, so I´ll probably be updating once a week if everything goes smoothly. If it doesn´t, well... 
> 
> So enjoy the read and please bear with me. Any comments on anything are highly appreciated! I love you all :3

Bard had never been shoved into a wardrobe before.

“Don´t make a sound,“ Thranduil whispered before he shut the door.

All of a sudden he was very energetic.

Bard hugged the bag and nervously eyed the tiny gap in the wardrobe door. He didn´t need to think extremely hard to figure out the horrible voice under the window was _the father_. He also didn´t have to think extremely hard to immediately start questioning the ´father´ part of this father´s identity. He was also afraid to breath a little.

_Did he really climb the tower using the hair? That couldn´t be pleasant for neither of them._

Bard couldn´t see the entire figure but probably didn´t even want to. The man that appeared at the window was taller than any human could possibly be and had a strange lizard-y quality to him, everything about him looked scaly and was either black or red and his skin resembled charred wood. He briefly hugged Thranduil, who had to raise on his toes for that, then took off his cloak and unloaded the huge basket he carried on his forearm. Bard would swear he was sniffing the air, that he could smell him in that wardrobe.

It was mainly Thranduil´s initial reaction that was making this so scary for him. Bard was just now realizing it was rather illogical. Why would Thranduil hide him? He was scared, he threatened him with a pan and he wanted him to _leave_. And then his father showed up, the person (though Bard was sceptical about this specific part) that clearly was stronger than Thranduil and could speed up Bard´s departure or deal with the situation more effectively than his son in general... and Thranduil _shoved him into the wardrobe?_

Bard doubted he had done it for his protection but couldn´t see any other possible explanation. However, the bottom line was, he was glad to be inside the wardrobe. He´d much rather be outside, gone, preferably at home with his children, but given the situation, wardrobe was probably still better than being in the same room as _the father_.

* * *

Thranduil almost cut himself twice while chopping the mushrooms. He had never hidden anything from his father before. Never, not once, anything, and now there was a man in his wardrobe and Thranduil didn´t know what to do.

Smaug would kill him on the spot. There was no debate about that part. A stranger trespassing here, where his greatest treasure was hidden? Thranduil did not want to see Smaug´s reaction to that. Trying to explain anything would be pointless.

_The man didn´t hurt me, father. The man was injured and needed help, father. The man swears he wouldn´t find a way here ever again, even if he tried, father._

Father wouldn´t care. Father would throw the man out of the window.

“Are you alright, son?“

Thranduil flinched and dropped the knife. It glistened in the air and got stuck in the floor just inches from his foot.

“I am. Yes, perfectly alright,“ he smiled. “Just excited about the...“ “

Soup?“ Smaug raised his eyebrows.

Thranduil nodded. “That too, yes. But, you know-“

“Of course,“ Smaug´s voice took on a soft paternal tone, “you get excited about it every time.  It´s the song day, isn´t it.“

A huge weight was lifted from Thranduil´s heart. Right. The song day was coming up. That was something to be excited about. The moment he had said ´excited´his mind had started to frantically look for something he could be excited about. It was a poor word choice. But the song day, yes, that was exciting. It was something to look forward to once his life got back to normal.

“It´s the song day,“ Thranduil admitted, relieved, “I know you don´t like to hear about it, so I wasn´t going to mention it. But yes, it´s the song day.“

Smaug was always so _huffy_ when it came to the song day. Thranduil called it that for the lack of better term, and it was describing the thing perfectly – it was a day at the end of which came a song. A mysterious song, that raised from an unseen place and washed over the woods, carried by the wind. It appeared with a certain regularity and Thranduil could never make out the words, but that didn´t bother him. The melody alone was magical, it changed everything around him for a while, it was like the world opening its arms for him.

All of that were reasons for Smaug to feel strongly negatively about the song day. That didn´t stop Thranduil from waiting for it like others wait for their birthday. It was a part of the outside world reaching out for him and he was willing to defend it against his father for all eternity if he had to.

“I´m slowly coming to terms with it,“ Smaug shrugged.

It was very obvious how slowly exactly he was coming to terms with the song day. Very slowly. The pace could probably be compared to the growth of mountains.

The soup was slowly becoming the soup and the smell of mushrooms and herbs filled the kitchen.

“It can´t hurt us, father,“ Thranduil replied and stirred the pot,“ it´s far away and just a song.“

Smaug´s face grew significantly darker.

* * *

Bard carefully shifted his position and stretched his legs, at least as much as the wardrobe allowed. It was _a wardrobe_. It was far from comfortable. When the smell of soup reached him, he relaxed a little. At least now the father couldn´t smell him for sure. The scent of basil was overwhelming.

Still, Bard would be so glad if those two ate just a tiny bit faster. It was bad enough he had gotten stuck here until night. That was the exact opposite of his plan.

A pieces of their conversation kept slipping through the gap in the door. A song day, whatever that was, was clearly a frequent topic in this bizzare household. Bard could feel the atmosphere change when it was brought up. Also the father´s appearance changed, whether that was possible or not. He looked... bristled. Like some sort of a spiky angry cat, with small sparks running through his hair. Thranduil apeared small and frail next to him, despite being pretty tall himself. That was making Bard feel like a slightly bigger ant.

Their dinner went on forever. Bard could see a very thing stripe of a sky through a very thin stripe of a window and it was dark already dark. The room was now mostly orange and smelled of candles. The conversation turned into a prolonged small talk that mostly involved the father talking about his day, the most common and usual things in that horrible, horrible voice of his. Bard expected his skin to stop crawling any second, given the talking was happening for quite a while now, but it didn´t.

Instead it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. Bard yawned into his palm several times. It was very annoying to be scared and tired at the same time, one part of his brain was ordering the body to shut down, the other was freaking out and forcing it to stay awake. There was the imminent threat of him accidentaly knocking something over if he fell asleep. He had no idea what was in the wardrobe with him. He assumed clothes but it could have been brooms or buckets or something similarly noisy.

The father pulled up a chair and Thranduil sat down on the floor at his feet. Bard shifted a bit so he could have a better view. Just in time for the moon to push a cloud aside and shine right through the window. What happened next took the situation, that was already tilded enough towards an absolute nonsensical mayhem in Bard´s opinion, and threw it far across the borderline of normal.

Thranduil´s hair started to glow.

At first it was soft and barely noticeable and Bard wasn´t sure whether his tired eyes weren´t fooling him, but the longer the moonlight dwelled on Thranduil´s head, the brighter it shone, eventually blinding him for a moment, until his sight got used to it.

It was definitely, absolutely, without a single doubt the most beautiful yet eerie thing Bard had ever seen. One could even call it _otherworldly_. The father carefully run the hairbrush through what looked like a mass of starlight, humming something alongside of a lullaby, while Thranduil sat motionless and stared at the floor.

He couldn´t see how strings of light clung to the other man´s skin, how they sank into it and changed it. Made it...younger?

“Is this why you keep him here?“ Bard whispered to himself and immediately covered his mouth when the father stiffened and looked around with an expression that would melt a rock.

His hand didn´t stop brushing.

Bard really couldn´t wait to get out of this tower.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> Once-a-week updates are here, unfortunately the best I can do right now, because the school will definitely be... interesting. Uff.  
> I hope you guys will enjoy this chapter, stuff is taking a bit longer than anticipated but we´re finally moving forward!  
> Any feedback is appreciated and makes me happy, thank you all for comments, kudos and reading, you are great <3

“We lost him in the woods.“

Captain Redgrave stood at the entrance on the other side of the room and wasn´t sure he wanted to some any closer. King Oropher was sitting at the steps that lead to the pedestal for the crown and was turning the velvet cushion in his hands. The room was empty otherwise, there was nothing left to guard, he had sent everyone away.

Oropher had clearly tried to sleep, he was in his night robe and barefoot and his hair was loose. It gave him the appearance of a very sad thin tree, that kind that usually grew over graves and such. Redgrave sighed and went to sit down next to him. Preferably he would´ve gone home and sleep for fifteen hours straight because the forest had truly gotten the best of him. And his horse. But nobody could possibly turn their back at such a sight.

“ I am trying very much not to blame you, captain, but it is difficult,“ the king said.

Redgrave believed him. Oropher looked incredibly guilty for someone who had just been robbed. His eyes were red.

“I get it. I´m definitely to blame here. It´s my job, remember? To guard. This place, all things in it and…you. I failed at all three. So go ahead. Blame me.“

Oropher moved closer to him and rested his head on Redgrave´s shoulder. The captain stiffened.

“I don´t want to. You are a good man and a good soldier, Sam. I know you are doing everything in your power to fix this, I promise I will be alright tomorrow,“ the king sighed.

Redgrave barely listened to anything he said after he had called him´ Sam´. Whenever the king refrained from the formal manner of adressing the captain of his guards, it was a silent cry for help and it always caught _Sam_ unprepared. They had grown very close after the passing of Oropher´s wife. The king had been seeking an emotional refuge and quickly had latched onto the closest person possible – Redgrave. Who really had´t had the heart to fight him on it.

However, the truth was it was making his job twice as hard.

* * *

When Thranduil opened the door, Bard had to cover his eyes. The glow was slowly dying out but it was still way too bright for someone who had spent the several past hours in the darkness of a wardrobe.

“I am so sorry about this,“ Thranduil said while helping him up, “I might have panicked a bit.“

“It´s fine,“ Bard shook off his arm, “I was doing perfectly well in there. Much better than I would´ve been doing outside, I assume. If the air is clear, I would…“

_…go and get lost in the dark dangerous forest._

Thranduil shook his shiny head. “I don´t think that would be a very good idea. You will get eaten. And even though it would probably be the safest option for me, I cannot let that happen. At least not in clear conscience.“

He talked differently. With much more confidence and energy. Bard suspected it was the hair, making Thranduil stronger, either as a result of their clearly magical powers or through some sort of a placebo effect. Or maybe some of his terrifying father´s aura rubbed off on him. This time it was Bard who was anxious and keeping his distance.

“What do you suggest then?“ he raised his eyebrows. “Should I stay here and wait for your dad to chaperone me out of there? I´m leaving.“

He turned to the window but the darkness behind it was highly uninviting. Beautiful, sparkled with stars and such, but _highly uninviting_. Bard tried to ignore that and was already one foot on the windowsill when Thranduil caught his arm.

“You will fall and break your neck. Come on.“

Bard sighed. That was true, of course. He could barely see where the windowsill ended.

“I have kids. I have to go. They must be dying with worry now,“ he protested weakly while Thranduil was pulling him back into the room.

Now he froze and loosened his grip a little.

“You have children?“ he asked, obviously confused by that thought alone.

“Three, in fact. Two girls, one boy. I need to get home. To them. They probably think I´m dead by now.“ Bard heavily sat down and hid his face into his palms.

Now when the children had been brought up, his heart sunk somewhere to the level of his stomach. Sigrid wouldn´t talk to him for a month after this, except for ´I told you so´, but maybe not even that, because right now, he was putting her through hell at the moment.

“Don´t you have a torch laying around? Doesn´t your dad ever need torches?“ Bard asked in a tone dripping with exasperation.

“He does not, as a matter of fact,“ Thranduil replied almost apologetically, “I only have candles. Lots of candles. Do you want a candle?“

“Uhh... maybe, I don´t know, it´s not like I have that many options here,“ Bard shrugged.

Maybe he could do something with a candle. Better than nothing, definitely.

“I don´t suppose I could trouble your for a strand of your magically glowing magical hair that is clearly magically fueled by moonlight?“

Thranduil shook his head. “It doesn´t work when cut. See?“

He reached behind his ear and pulled out a lock that did not glow. It was an ordinary lock of ordinary pale blond hair.

“Of course. Naturally,“ Bard nodded.

Nothing weird about that, of course. He would´t dare to assume that some _magically glowing magical hair that is clearly magically fueled by moonlight_ would continue to magically glow even after it had been cut.

“Does it really matter if you wait here until morning?“ Thranduil asked carefully.

“If you knew why I am here in the first place, it would matter to you too, believe me. You would be twice as eager to get me out,“ Bard smiled bitterly, remembering he was, in fact, a wanted criminal, at least for now.

“Well?“ Thranduil raised one dark eyebrow.

“Well what?“

Thranduil pulled up a chair, still keeping a bit of a distance, and sat down, crossing his legs. “Tell me. Why are you here in the first place.“

Bard took a deep breath. “I don´t think I want to. Or that you´d want me to. Trust me.“

“That is quite difficult, considering you are tresspassing and I don´t even know your name,“ Thranduil frowned.

“I didn´t think I´d be here this long,“ Bard admitted, “and it is not exactly safe for me to introduce myself to anyone right now. Not even strangers in towers in the middle of the woods.“

Thranduil´s face sharpened. “You did something bad, didn´t you. That is why you were running and got shot, isn´t it.“

Bard didn´t say anything and looked away. He had been avoiding wording his situation like this since he had gotten his hands on the crown. But it was the truth, of course.

“Father _did_ warn me there are bad people out there,“ Thranduil said slowly, twirling a dimly shining strand of hair between his fingers, “but you don´t necessarily look like a bad person. I guess he was right about...“

“Alright, listen,“ Bard stood up sharply, fists clenched, “your father doesn´t get to judge me! Or anyone else, for that matter! Is this how you are spending your life? Here, where he feeds you nonsense about the outside world and _uses_ you?!“

Thranduil wasn´t prepared for such an outburst. “He´s not using...“

“Ah, so the fact that he apparently keeps you locked up in here, a tower without a door, which is frankly a pretty disturbing concept, is based exclusively on his undying love for you and has nothing to do with your magical hair!“

Bard was slowly losing control over the volume of his voice. He didn´t want to yell at this poor innocent man but everything around was getting on his nerves at this point and the hair was the last absurdity he was willing to face.

“Of course it has everything to do with my hair!“ Thranduil opposed, stepping back but flaring up with anger. “People would kill to get their hands on my hair! They would sell me like a piece of jewellery! Or fancy furniture!“

Bard stared at him in disbelief.

“And that´s it? You seriously think you would be valuable to the wrong kind of people just because you are _pretty_?!“

Thranduil swiftly turned around and threateningly grabbed another kitchen tool, only this time it was a knife.

“Maybe you should get going after all,“ he said coldly, “good luck with whatever awaits you out there.“

Bard quickly stepped back. Alright. Not only Thranduil seemed much more confident and much less scared, now he also had a knife instead of a pan and this entire home invasion situation got pretty serious al of a sudden. _I might have overstepped some boundaries_ , Bard thought unhappily. But it was difficult not to overstep boundaries when this atrocity was happening right in front of his face.

Or maybe he was reading way too much into it. _Did_ he even see the father´s hand get younger? Bard suddenly wasn´t so sure. After all he had been in a wardrobe... But the feeling that something was truly, undeniably and terribly wrong with the father persisted and one way or another, there still was a grown man locked up in a tower like... a princess. Guarded by a dragon.

“Are you happy?“ Bard asked before he could stop himself.

Thranduil lowered the knife, confused. “Excuse me?“

“I don´t know you and I don´t know him but this,“ Bard gestured at the room, “this feels so wrong to me, nobody lives like this! Nobody _should_ live like this. Don´t you mind? Aren´t you frustrated, fed up with this? Clearly you have everything you need and I bet your father fulfills your every wish but don´t you ever want to see more?“

“I swear I am not trying to lure you out so I can sell you like a piece of jewellery,“ he added upon seeing Thranduil´s expression.

_I have that covered with an actual piece of jewellery._

“I do,“ Thranduil eventually said.

With that the last light in his hair died out and made those simple two words even more emotionally wrecking. He sat down, as if the weight of Bard´s words dropped down on him all at once.

“I do want to see more. Not much, just... something, anything. Like an actual river or what grass feels like. But father keeps telling me that a single step outside means danger, danger and nothing but danger and I don´t have reasons not to trust him and I...“

He fell silent as he lost the thread of his thoughts.

“This escalated way too quickly. I feel like my entire world is shattering right now,“ he whispered and there was a good dose of horror in his voice.

“I´m sorry, I did not mean to do that!“ Bard put aside the bag and knelt next to Thranduil who was aimlessly staring at his white hands.

They looked like hands of a porcelain doll and they were trembling.

“How often does your father come by?“ Bard asked.

An idea was slowly taking form inside his mind, though many other, more rational thoughts were viciously trying to beat it into the ground.

“Once a day. In the evening,“ Thranduil replied, “why?“

“You could come with me. Just for a little while. I´d show you a bit of the outside world and then we would get you back here before he´d even notice you are gone!You can consider it a payment for giving me shelter and fixing my wound. I barely said ´thank you´,after all.“

_What are you doing, that is the worst idea in the history of the worst ideas, he will definitely notice and he will squish you like a bug, you don´t owe this man anything, just leave and let him deal with his miserable existence on his own, he´s an adult, he can do this!_

_Why are you holding his hand?! Why are you leading him to the window?! You haven´t throught this through, stop!_

_Oh dear._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> Here comes the weekly update! Leave it up to me to have three entire Sams in my story. Well, fixed it, sorta, I guess. I hope it won´t be confusing for anyone *sigh*  
> Also, BIG, GIANT, MASSIVE thank you for the wonderful feedback, it makes me so happy *crying*... and keeps my motivation up, so seriously, thank you, guys <3  
> I hope you´ll enjoy the chapter and as usual, any comments on anything are welcomed, appreciated and loved! :3

“Calm down. It´s not the first time he has been gone for hours.“

“Yes, but this is the first time he´s robbing the  _king_ , Bain.“

Sigrid was pacing around their tiny kitchen, twisting a tea towel in her hands. Bain, seated at the table with a bowl of leftover stew, appeared completely calm. Tilda was very silent for the past two hours, curled up in her bed with her only stuffed toy, blankly staring out of the window across the room.

They were all worried, each one in their own way. Sigrid kept moving, reorganizing stuff, wiping the table. Bain did and said nothing, but he had been counting seconds for two hours straight now and only felt obliged to remain a beacon of calm, even though it was getting pretty difficult. Tilda was oscillating between a certainity that the door would open any second now and their dad would walk in, and another certainity, that something had happened and heir dad was in jail or worse.

“Maybe I should go out and ask around. There was some rucus earlier at the square, someone might know something,“ Sigrid suggested.

“What could you possibly ask them? ´Excuse me, do you happen to know if my dad got arrested today? I think you know him, he´s this tall...´ Please,“ Bain scoffed.

“You don´t have to be nasty, you know, you were the one s _couting the terrain for him_ ,“ Sigrid made ironic quotation marks in the air, “you should know if there were any risks!“

“Of course there were _risks_ , you said it yourself, he´s robbing the king! How do you _rob a king without risks_?“ Bain hissed.

Tilda sat down, glaring at them from under her toussled curls. “Maybe you can shut up? And stop yelling about dad robbing the king because we have _windows_ and people can _hear_?“

* * *

“All we know so far is that he is called Small Sam, sir. He appears to be very stubborn and determined to keep quiet about everything else,“ the soldier said apologetically.

_Small Sam_. Sam Radgrave remembered Small Sam. There were many Sams in his generation and Small Sam was the smallest and most annoying of them all. He used to tag along with another Sam, a pretty regular guy, whose entire family had appeared to have a drinking problem. Redgrave had always liked this Sam much better than Small Sam. Small Sam had had it good and yet he had decided to be...well, _Small Sam_.

Could the regular Sam be a part of this? Oh no, he would most certainly not be a part of this, he would be the _brain_.

_Greedy bastard. How many people did he drag into this with him?_

“Should we tell the king, sir? The soldier asked, confused by his captain´s sudden zone-out.

“The king is asleep. I would very much like it to stay that way, the poor man has been through enough today. Put your energy into dispatching at least eight men to patrol around each of the gates instead. Ten at the one facing the forest,“ Redgrave said and dismissed his underling with a vawe of his hand.

Small Sam had been confined in one of the more comfortable cells because of the injuries he had sustained when falling from the ceiling. If he was in pain, he wouldn´t let it show, maintaining a rather smug smile on his face even while napping. Redgrave peered at him through the bars. Even when asleep, this man managed to annoy him. At least now he knows where to go next. It wasn´t a clue, not by a long shot, but the captain was still glad to at least remember the other Samuel. Now he didn´t feel like he was blind anymore.

* * *

It was like someone tossed a roll of pale gold silk out of the window. The hair unravelled in its entire impressive lenght as it was falling to the ground. Bard almost lost his grip on the stones of the tower, when it came swooshing down besides him, immediately starting to glow in the moonlight mitigated by the few solitary clouds that wandered the sky.

Next came Thranduil, sweeping down from above like a giant butterfly that got lost in the night. Bard was glad he had decided to climb down the wall, like _a sane person_. Thranduil landed with a very unpoetic thud and some words that were probably supposed to be curse words but certainly weren´t.

“Are you alright?“ Bard called.

Meeting the ground this quickly wasn´t the impression Thranduil had been hoping for. The ground punched the breath right out of his lungs and it took him quite a few seconds to get it back. But the grass... it was exactly like he imagined. A bit spiky but not too much, earthy smell of the soil underneath, and something already ran across his face within those first few seconds. It was great. Cold, yes, but great. Thranduil giggled.

“I am fantastic!“ he waved at Bard.

“Stay put, I´ll be down in no time!“ Bard answered.

He was still pretty high up and looking down was making him a bit dizzy. Thranduil was happily rolling in the grass and the pool of his hair some ten or fifteen metres under him and looked like he could manage for a few more moments.

He could. The air was crisp and somewhat sharp with the smell of the trees and some nearby water, the sky was unbelievable and Thranduil would willingly stay right where he was, just gazing at it. Even though he had goosebumps all over his body and his feet were cold.

Everything around was so big. It was exhilirating at first but before Bard got down, Thranduil had begun to feel anxious. He couldn´t see the _boundaries_. There had always been boundaries, boundaries he could touch, boundaries that gave him structure, and here? Nothing, except for endless sky, endless woods and endless... possibilities. Shouldn´t one be excited about endless posibilities? The people in the books he had read were usually excited about endless posibilities. Then again, that was fiction. Real world wasn´t like that, Smaug had emphasised that very often. Maybe in real world endless possibilities were really scary.

Bard had to sit down for a while after he finally got back on the ground. His wound was aching. In hindsight, he should have probably accepted Thranduil´s offer to use the hair. Climbing towers after being shot with an arrow was a bad idea. Everybody knew that. Which of course didn´t stop Bard from doing it. Twice.

“Are you still alright?“ he asked when he noticed Thranduil´s previous elation gone.

He now had his hands curled up against his chest and shaking knees pressed together, his entire body seemed like he was expecting an attack or something.

“I need a second,“ he admitted, “this is too much. I think I might have a... what do you call it when you can´t breath properly and your heart beats really fast and you feel like the walls are closing in on you despite the fact that _there aren´t any walls_?“

“You´re having a panic attack. That´s to be expected, I suppose, given how you have been living up to this point,“ Bard said calmly and sat down next to him, “Do you want to hold my hand? Or a hug? Just breath slowly, it will pass.“

“I shouldn´t have done this, this was a mistake, I need to go back,“ Thranduil said in a shaky voice, “I need to go back now, if my father ever finds about this, he´s going to be so mad and disappointed, and...“

Bard reached for him and Thranduil wrapped himself around his arm like some sort of a terrified parasitic plant.

“Keep breathing,“ Bard reminded him softly, though he was starting to question the sanity of this idea himself.

Thranduil´s eyes were very wide and very dark right now. Bard could barely imagine the messy train of thoughts in the other man´s head. This was a big, giant, _enormous_ step for him. And it was clearly happening way too fast. Bard was starting to realize that pushing Thranduil´s life out of the window might have not been the smartest thing to do. But leaving it the way it was wouldn´t be either. Bard knew he wouldn´t be able to stop thinking about the sad pale creature in the tower, even if he had gotten out of the woods alive and well.

They stayed on the spot for a few more minutes, until Thranduil´s mind cleared and his heart stopped acting like it wanted to jump out of the ribcage and run screaming into the woods. His mood had changed several times during that, in disturbingly fast intervals, shifting from being excited abut the grass and the moth that just landed on his knee to hyperventilating and almost crying about ´what if scenarios involving Smaug. Bard had patiently and repeatedly reminded him to breath and that his father wasn´t going to even notice Thranduil had left. He felt awkward in his inability to comfort him better. But they have known each other for mere hours.

“I think I am truly alright now,“ Thranduil finally said, loosening his grip on Bard´s arm, “we can go... let´s go before it hits me again, come on!“

He got up swiftly, brushing the leaves of grass of his clothes. Bard picked up the bags, one his, with the crown and other things, and one Thranduil´s, with some hastily packed things, like a little bit of food, water and also a thin blanket, which Thranduil now took out and wrapped himself in, since he didn´t have an actual cloak.

“Should we do something about the hair?“ Bard asked, watching his step as he wanted to avoid it, coiling around them.

“My youngest one would be extatic about it, but I don´t think dragging it through the woods like this is the best idea... I´d say it would be actually pretty painful. And you´d get a hedgehog stuck in it.“

“I like hedgehogs,“ Thranduil said absentmindedly, running his fingers through the mass of his still relatively smooth hair. “How good are you with braiding?“ he then turned to Bard.

“I have two daughters,“ Bard replied with a confident smile and cracking his knuckles, “what do you think?“

* * *

The forest looked different during the night. Thranduil´s hair, now braided into an enormous braid, gave them a bit of light, but once they dove under the thick canope of the tree crowns, it began to fade. Because of that there wasn´t much to see, so Thranduil did his best to just hold onto Bard´s hand and step where Bard had stepped. The braid wrapped around him on top of the blanket was keeping him warm but he regretted going barefoot. He was used to it at home he hadn´t even considered putting on shoes.

Every sound the trees made frightened him but after approximately an hour of walking Thranduil was too consumed by said regrets about shoes he couldn´t care less about suspicious sounds behind his back. Twice something medium-sized ran between their legs, a rabbit, or maybe the hedgehog that would´ve gotten caught in his hair. They came across some luminiscent mushrooms, which Thranduil examined for good five minutes before they moved on.

And then there was the road. When they reached it, Bard stopped in surprise, as if he had stopped hoping that he would ever manage to find a way back the moment they had left the tower.

“Oh. Fantastic! Now we´re halfway there!“ he exclaimed as loudly as he dared. “The gate might be a tougher nut to crack, but we´ll cross that bridge when we´ll get there.“

“Maybe cover your hair with that blanket,“ he added, looking up at the moon which was once again peaking at them quite confidently.

Thranduil draped the blanket over his shiny head and Bard smiled. It actually made for a decent cape.

They resumed walking, not holding hands anymore, now that they were out of the worst, it wasn´t necessary. The road was wide and empty and fairly well lit. Bard just hoped they were walking in the right direction. The tricky part of the woods around the tower messed with his sense of direction pretty badly.

But they were. The fields of silky floaty grass that surrounded the city eventually opened in front of them, with the white ribbons of the path stretching all the way to the city gates.

They stopped at the edge of the forest and Thranduil took a very, very deep breath. He was tempted to reach for Bard´s hand again. The feeling of overwhelming wasteness was back and worse than back under the tower.

“It´s so.... big,“ he whispered, wide-eyed like a child.

“What is?“

“ _Everything_.“

They headed towards the gates in a pace fit for an afternoon stroll. Bard was trying to think about a way to get in, he doubted the guards would just let two random strangers in in the middle of the night and he still had that _blasted crown_ in his bag. And if he was not mistaken, those dark thing over there were horses. They were pretty far away, a group of what were, without a doubt, members of the place guard. They didn´t seem to notice them and if they did, they weren´t doing anything about it.

“Let´s hurry,“ Bard said quietly, taking Thranduil´s hand again and pushing him to speed up, “we might have some company if we don´t.“

They ran across the grass and hid in the shadow of the walls.

“Is something wrong?“ Thranduil whispered.

Bard shook his head. “No. I don´t think they saw us. But we arrived at the bridge and I still don´t know how to cross it.“

They both looked up at the incredible height of the walls.

“I could toss my hair but there´s nothing to latch it on,“ Thranduil said unhappily, “plus it´s in a braid now, so it´s much shorter.“

“We could wait here until the morning... keep moving, so the patrol doesn´t see us...“

Bard didn´t sound happy with that plan.

But he didn´t need to be happy with it because a wall opened behind him and Sigrid, hidden under the hood of her cloak, walked right into his face.

They both swallowed a scream.

“Da?!“

“Where did you come from?!“

“ _Really?!_ That´s what interests you the most right now?!“ Sigrid hissed, grabbing her father by the sleeve and pulling him through.

He barely had time to reach for Thranduil but they managed and closed the door seconds before they heard horses on the other side. The weight lifted from Bard´s heart would probably be equal to an extremely large elephant.

“Sigrid, I am so sorry,“ he exhaled and pulled his daughter into an embrace while she muttered incoherent curse words into his coat.

Thranduil stood aside, trying to get lost in his blanket, because he suddenly felt terribly unjustly robbed of something. He couldn´t tell what it was that he suddenly found missing, but it must have been something pretty important, considering how sad he felt realizing he didn´t have it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you guys for your feedback and patience! <3  
> This is turning out to be really bloody long. Since I didn´t publish last week (school, school, schoooooool), I´m going to try and get out two chapters this week, so one more should be coming!  
> Any comments are super appreciated, I´m basically winging this thing and you guys are really helping to shape it as it goes, so, yeah :3  
> Enjoy!!

They followed Sigrid through streets so narrow and dark Thranduil doubted those could still be called streets, and Thranduil did not know much about streets. He was hanging onto Bard´s arm until they reached a dimly lit window with a candle flickering behind it.

Bard´s house.

He suddenly found himself in a space iluminated only by several small flames of randomly placed candles, that made the shadows dance and the walls close in and open up at the same time. The smell and unclear lines of the furniture hinted this was a kitchen, but still, Thranduil was very reluctant to let go off Bard´s hand. It might have been just a kitchen but it wasn´t his kitchen. It was a different, slightly scary kitchen, seen through a veil of considerable physical exhaustion and adrenaline.

A boy jumped to his feet when they enetered. “Da! Are you alright? Do you have it? Why did it took so long? Who´s that?“

He was whispering in a way that clearly suggested he´d much rather be shouting at the moment. He threw himself around his father´s neck while shooting one question after another. Thranduil caught a glimpse of big eyes under a fluffy mop of hair when the boy looked at him, and he almost took a step back.

“Bain, I´m sorry, I´ll tell you everything tomorrow, I´m absolutely exhausted,“ Bard mumbled into his son´s shoulder, relieved and smiling.

He couldn´t believe he was home. It was fantastic, but at the same time it meant the guards were just around the corner. The crown was burning his hip through the bag. Bain´s shirt smelled like burnt pie crust and apples. He had been helping the girls with a pie, clearly.

“Can we safe the interrogation for tomorrow? I believe we are all absolutely exhausted,“ Sigrid said.

She was already taking off her bodice and loosening her hair, getting ready for bed.

Bain didn´t want to hear that. “So we are just ignoring this random person who came home with dad because it´s past our bedtime?“

“That is Thranduil,“ Bard said, taking Thranduil´s hand and pulling him gently into the scarce light, “I sort of took him on a field trip. Thranduil, these are my kids. You´ve met Sigrid, this is Bain and Tilda´s sleeping, but trust me, she´s going to be the first thing you´ll see and hear in the morning.“

The children were _different_. Nothing like the soft pastel illustrations in the books. The girl looked like she could cut a man and the boy reminded Thranduil of the shadowy pictures of thieves and bandits that were gracing the pages of a very old story book Smaug had given him once, ages ago. Thranduil had never liked the book and had always suspected father had given it to him as a warning. Now he could clearly picture the boy peeking from behind a tree with a dagger up his sleeve.

* * *

The morning was unbelievably noisy and it caught Thranduil unprepared. The voices, footsteps, whinning of horses, sounds he couldn´t even identify, all of that so close, right there behind the window. His back ached slightly. The bed he had spent the night on was not as comfortable and big as his own, the matresse was hard and the pillow kind of flat, but at the end (or, to be precise, at the beginning) of the day, those were details. For the first time he could remember he woke up _somewhere else_. Not in the tower.

His braid was getting messy. Untangled it covered most of the room, not only because it was a really long braid, but also because it was a pretty small room.

Clean white walls, curtains in washed out green color, flowerpots on the windowsill. A big colorful wardrobe with flowers on its door. A crack in the ceiling. A few clearly handmade rugs on the floor. Thranduil could almost smell the home in all of this.

There were voices in the kitchen, mixed in with the clanking of kitchenware. Thranduil adjusted his clothes and hair and carefully opened the door.

“Thranduil! You´re up!“

Bard looked different than the previous day. He shaved and changed into a clean shirt. Thranduil could see a clean bandage peeking through an open collar.

“Did you sleep well? Or at least...at all?“ Bard asked.

“I did,“ Thranduil nodded, still half hidden behind the door, “thank you for the bed.“

“Tilda, darling, go and say hi. And bring our guest some water and soap, when you´re at it,“ Bard instructed his youngest and tousled her hair when she passed him, bravely carrying a huge wash-basin.

A pair of big plum-colored eyes peeked above its rim. “Hello! Nice to meet you, I´m Tilda! You mind if I come in?“

She was small and resembled a doll, but there were mischievous sparks in her gaze.

“Oh my, da didn´t lie when he said you have the longest hair in the world,“ she gasped upon seeing the braid coiling all over the room, “can we brush it after breakfast? Can we, can we? Pretty pleaaaase!“

Thranduil felt there was no way anyone could refuse her anything once she pulled that face, with long lashes batting and pink cheeks and angelic curls bouncing above her clean forehead.

“Umm...sure, yes, we can, we should, in fact, I should, or it´s going to get all tangled up and...“

“Oh don´t worry, I´m gonna brush the hell out of it!“ Tilda clapped in excitement.

“Tilda, language!“

“Sorry, I´m gonna brush the _heck_ out of it!“

* * *

The visit they had payed to the other Sam had been incredibly frustrating. There had been nothing, except for a smug smile of the suspect, which had basically given him away but couldn´t be used as an evidence of any sort.

They came back as empty-handed as they had left. Maybe even more empty-handed, if something like that was even possible.

“Do we at least have an idea of what he looks like? Or if it even _is_ a _he_?“

Captain Redgrave could feel the growing desperation drip from his voice. He had virtually every man in the city watch on the case, the city was searched through and through, there were troops circling the city walls, but both the crown and the man were just _gone_. In the woods.

“It is a man, sir. Dark hair. Given the way he ran, he´s probably quite young... then again, he could´ve just been in a really good condition and still be fifty. He had... umm, I swear I remembered what colour was his coat, give me a second, sir...“

 _Oh dear lord_. Sam didn´t want to go back into the woods. He really counted on the thief being forced to return at some point.

 _Unless they have an emergency hiding spot in the woods_.

“I am an idiot,“ Sam uttered loudly, got up and without any further explanation left.

His underlings exchanged a few confused looks. The captain usual wasn´t the one to admit his flaws. At least not in such straightforward manner.

Sam Redgrave was incredibly angry with himself. It was such an obvious thing to think of it was the easiest to miss as well. It was just dumb, riddiculous and dumb. Of course there was a hide out in those woods. That´s why he had gone there. It must have been behind those trees growing so stupidly close.

“Your Majesty.“

Oropher looked up from a book. He had a red velvet vest on, which pushed a bit of colour into his pale face, and he was sitting in a sunny spot on his balcony. Sam was glad to see him _technically_ outside for once.

“I really wish I had some good news, but at least this time I don´t have completely horrible news,“ he said as he approached the king, “we are going back to the woods. Or at least I am. The culprit might have some sort of emergency point there. Or maybe a stash.“

“Excellent work, captain,“ Oropher smiled and put one smooth hand on the captain´s sleeve in a manner that was both comforting and unsettling.

The man tend to keep this kind of air around him.

“Not really, Your Majesty. We have wasted valuable time following a hunch that didn´t lead anywhere. I have not seen the forest for the trees, I´m sorry, “ Sam sighed and the king´s hand squeezed his forearm.

“You just _adore_ to apologize, don´t you, captain,“ Oropher said quietly, his lips very close to Sam´s face. “Stop putting yourself down. I hate when you do that. They have stolen a cold, dead piece of jewellery. Not a living person. There is no time _running out_.“

“Of course, sir. I´m sorry.“

“Sam, you´re apologizing again,“ the king said dryly.

The captain´s face went red. “Oropher, I´m...“

The king quickly covered Sam´s mouth with his palm. “I swear to all the gods, if you say you´re sorry again, I´m going to have you arrested.“

“We are going to the forest then,“ he continued, smiling, “it has been a while since I´ve got up on a horse.“

“You can´t be serious,“ Sam opposed, pulling Oropher´s hand away from his face, “I can´t possibly endanger you like that, that is out of the question, I am going alone.“

“No, you´re not. I might be a useless king but I am still a king,“ Oropher said sharply, “I am going.“

“ _Why_?“

The question hit the king hard, despite it´s simplicity. Sam Redgrave had that annoying gift of sending simple questions into the weakest spots, where they hurt like hell. It was like taking down a dragon with a perfectly aimed single arrow.

“Just because,“ Oropher said.

His composure was faked and threatening to break any second.

“I simply feel like it. I am bored. And I have been sitting around in my castle for thirty years.“

* * *

“You mind telling me what´s going on?“ Bain asked.

They were walking together two steps behind the girls and Thranduil. Sigrid was carrying a big basket that was slowly filling with goods. Some of which were not bought, to Bard´s dissatisfaction. Usually he didn´t mind that much if the children snatched a few innocent items on the way, but this really wasn´t a good time for it.

“Where do I start,“ he sighed.

“With the guy,“ Bain suggested, “because I did not see that coming. And I´m very confused.“

“In all honesty, son, me too,“ Bard admitted. “It´s beyond bizzare, really. I felt like I have stepped into one of Sigrid´s freaky bed time stories, I mean, there was a tower without a door and you have seen the hair, this kind of stuff doesn´t belong into the real world. And his father, that was nightmare fuel.“

“So you have already met the parents, huh,“ Bain grinned, “you aren´t waisting any time, that´s for sure.“

“Trust me, if you met him, you wouldn´t be making this joke,“ Bard replied, “I´m not even sure if it was a human.“

“So he was just there? Like an enchanted princess?“

“In the middle of a forest, like an enchanted princess.“

“That is _weird_ ,“ Bain shuddered.

Thranduil several steps ahead of them had been officially adopted by Tilda. She made the most beautiful and elaborate braid that could nicely fit under a shawl without looking weird or suspicious. The end of the braid was still almost dragging on the ground behind him though. Tilda had one arm wrapped around him, while gesturing wildly with the other. Bard knew she was describing everything around them in exhausting detail.

_Thranduil is supposed to be back in the tower before sunset._

Bard bit his lip to disturb himself from the thought. There was time. Ages and ages until the sunset comes. No need to think about it right now.

“He looks so happy,“ Bain noted after a moment of silence, “look at him. I´ve never seen anyone so excited about a crowded, noisy, smelly marketplace!“

 _Not helping, Bain_.

“He does, doesn´t he,“ Bard sighed and picked up an apple that had rolled off its stall.

“Do you think it´s more cruel to put a bird back in the cage after it had tasted freedom, or to never let the bird out in the first place?“ he asked.

Bain shrugged as if he didn´t care but his eyes were serious. “I haven´t known the bird for a very long time but I feel like we should really discuss this. With the bird, I mean.“

They stopped. Bard kept looking at the apple in his hand because for some reason it was easier than to look at Thranduil at the moment.

“I feel like there is no middle ground in what I did when I brought him here,“ he said eventually. “It´s either really, really good or really, really _bad_. And hurtful. And scarring. Bain, I think I accidentally started something I´m not sure I can finish.“


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the promised extra chapter for the week" I know it´s Monday evening but I am not handling my workload well at the moment, so... yeah.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, they remain highly appreciated, please don´t hesitate to comment on anything, I will love you for it forever! <3
> 
> Enjoy! :3

“Thank you, Bard,“ Thranduil said when they sat down on someone´s doorstep together, while Bain went to help the girls with haggling over the price of a small wooden sword Tilda really wanted.

“For what, the cookie? It´s bit stale in my opinion,“ Bard replied, turning the cookie in his fingers.

This was one of those cookies that _deserved_ to be stolen.

“As a matter of fact, yes, for the cookie too,“ Thranduil nodded, “but for this, all of this. It´s very different from what I have imagined. It´s much darker, everything is sort of earthy. Rough. Dirty, dusty and _better_.“

Bard turned to him, surprised: “It´s _worse_ and that makes it _better_?“

Thranduil shrugged. “Somehow, yes. Were it the same as I have always imagined, there would be nothing to be excited about. If this cookie was perfect, it would be a boring cookie.“

“You know a lot for someone who had spent their live in a tower.“

“You think so?“

“Absolutely.“

They stayed sitting for a bit longer, silent. The collage of the marketplace kept changing in front of them. A bunch of birds gathered at Thranduil´s feet and stared hungrily at the leftover piece of cookie in his hand, waiting for it to fall. The kids were still at the stall with the toys where the vender seemed to finally crumble under the pressure of Tilda´s fake crying.

Bard watched Thranduil with the corner of his eye. Here in the daylight the man didn´t look so otherworldly but to call him common would be a straight up lie. They were like two very different sides of one very strange coin. Dark haired Bard with warm hazel eyes was like a wooden doll, made with love and nicely crafted, easily loved but with some serious rough edges, splinters and maybe choking hazard. Thranduil, with his magical hair and eyes the colour of the sky itself, was more of a piece of art, a doll sitting on a shelf of some rich girl or boy, safe from harm, safe from breaking, safe from _affection_. Same base, very different dolls.

“Have you ever been to the palace?“ Thranduil asked out of nowhere and Bard almost choked on a peanut.

“No? Why?“

“Just curious. It looks really beautiful. I wish I could see more of it,“ Thranduil replied, dreamily gazing somewhere over the many rooftops of the city where the decorated walls of the palace.

“We can go closer,“ Bard suggested carefully, partly hoping Thranduil wouldn´t want to, “not too close, but closer. They have fantastic windows. Colorful glass.“

Thranduil´s face lit up with a smile. “Can we really?“

_Oh boy. Why would you even suggest something like that? What is wrong with you? Do you want to get beheaded?!_

“Of course,“ Bard heard himself say and held out his hand.

Thranduil happily took it. “What about the kids, shouldn´t we tell them?“

“Trust me, they don´t care right now. A wooden sword is in the game.“

There weren´t many people around the palace, but twice as many guards as usual and a lot of movement. That frightened Bard a little. Something was definitely going on, the palace was usually a pretty calm, quiet place, at least for the standards of palaces all around the world. Bard instinctively stayed on the side, in the shadows. His heart was already pounding like crazy and he hated the amount of sudden guilt that was spreading around from approximately the area of his stomach.

Thranduil was fortunately too busy sightseeing to notice Bard´s sudden uneasiness. The palace was like a living thing, he could almost feel its breathing and the attraction he felt to it only got bigger when they approached. Thranduil didn´t where it was coming from but it was there.

“I could swear I have seen it somewhere, somehow. Maybe in a book. Could it be in a book, Bard?“ he asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Probably. It´s a pretty average palace... I assume, I don´t know palaces that well,“ Bard replied, forcing himself to sound relaxed and unphased.

“Familiar,“ Thranduil whispered to himself, neck still arched back.

One of the highest windows was blue and yellow and he could faintly recognize a sun pattern on the glass. It looked like an actual small sun was floating behind the window pane with the sunlight coming through.

A horn cut through the casual noise of the city and the gate of the palace opened with that sort of majestic creak these big gates tend to usually open with. Six men on horses appeared nd Thranduil jumped to the side. Living three-dimensional people were one thing but living three-dimensional animals moving at pretty big speed towards him were another thing.

When the horses got closer, Thranduil noticed one man was very different from the others. He had a head full of flowy pale hair and a posture very unlike his companions. Instead of a uniform he was wearing fine fur, leather and velvet, and jewellery with gemstones that shone like fire in the light. His eyes very briefly met Thranduil´s when the group was passing by.

“That was the king,“ Bard said once the riders were out of the earshot.

He sounded shocked.

“Is that a bad thing?“ Thranduil asked, still following the man with his gaze.

“No, but...“ Bard bit his lip, unable to finish the answer

_Yes, Yes, absolutely one hundred percent yes, I don´t know why but it is definitely a bad thing._

“He hasn´t left the palace in ages,“ he said finally, “some people even claim he died already and the council just hid it from the public. The fact that he is out here, riding a horse and whatnot means something is going on.“

“He looked a bit like a ghost,“ Thranduil said, “a sad, nicely dressed ghost.“

* * *

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?“

Sam Redgrave´s voice dripped with concern but it seemed to be misplaced, because the king was doing just fine. He was even smiling.

“I´m perfect, Sam, don´t worry,“ he replied, “I only wish we´ve gone alone.“

“Protection, Your Majesty. The woods are not the safest place.“

“I have you. I don´t need ´discount you´ four more times,“ Oropher opposed, “no offense to them, of course.“

The entered the forest and slowed down. Sam went mostly by instinct, although he did hope some traces of their recent chase were still there. They were, he could clearly see where their horses had gone off the path. He stopped the group on said place and got down from his saddle.

“We continue on foot. Your Majesty, allow me,“ he held out a hand in tough leather glove for Oropher, helping him down from his horse.

“Anton, go first.“

The best tracker of the group, Anton, headed forward and the group carefully followed him. He resembled a dog and caught up on the trail just as quickly. The footprints were still nicely visible and he even found a red streak on a tree bark where the man must have leaned on it to rest. The trees were getting closer and closer together.

“This is where we lost him. Our horses couldn´t get through,“ Sam said.

The ground in the area was still ridden with prints of hooves, tracing the confused movement of confused horses as they had been led by their confused masters. Now the men crossed over and made their way through the trees. Oropher was still holding Sam´s arm. A low hanging branch scratched his cheek and his ankle failed him when he stepped onto a softer patch of soil, but without any major consequences. He was very determined not to make a fool of himself. He didn´t mind being Sam´s damsell in distress from time to time, but this wasn´t the right time for such time to time.

Anton in the front followed broken twigs, bent grass and occasional smear of blood on the tree bark. He seemed very certain in his step but after a while he suddenly stopped.

“What is it, Anton?“

“Anton, talk to us.“

“Why are we stopping, Anton, come on!“

Anton looked confused, he turned right, he turned left, but always returned to the same spot.

“Alright, according to what I´m seeing right now, he vanished, disintegrated, disappeared into thin air right here and that is why we´re stopping,“ he shrugged finally, “I don´t know what to do here. Captain, sir, any ideas?“

“Well first of all, people don´t vanish. Usually,“ Sam replied sharply. “Ideas?“

“Maybe he climbed a tree?“

“We should just continue forward, captain.“

“How about we split and examine the area in multiple directions?“

The captain nodded. “Fine. You two go west, you two are going east. The king and I are heading forward. If the forest allows, that is.“

“Somebody should stay with the horses, Sam,“ Oropher whispered a reminder.

“Right! Bob, you stay here, Anton can handle this alone.“

* * *

“We´ve got you a scarf!“ Tilda squeaked and threw a beautiful, richly embroidered piece around Thranduil´s shoulders.

A wooden sword was victoriously dangling at her side.

“By ´got´ you mean bought, I hope,“ Bard frowned.

“Of course,“ Sigrid grinned but winked at Thranduil secretly.

Thranduil chuckled into to the fabric. “Thank you, it´s wonderful!“

“Please don´t encourage them,“ Bard protested.

They headed back home. Sigrid was already assembling a lunch in her mind. Bard was counting the hours they had left together. The time at the marketplace had passed way too quickly. None of them said it yet but they both knew they need to head out not long after lunch.

“We could do this again, you know,“ Bard said when they sat down in the bedroom together.

“You think?“ Thranduil looked up from the scarf.

He wasn´t done examining every single detail of the embroidery yet.

“Sure. It´s not that far and if we are careful, your father will never know. I mean, it´s not the best thing to do, but...“ Bard shrugged.

“I would love to,“ Thranduil said in all seriousness. “I can´t imagine never leaving that tower again. Honestly, even thinking about coming back there is terrifying me a bit.“

“I could bring you here on the prince´s birthday. Everybody´s in the streets and everybody´s singing, it´s beautiful!“

“The song day!“ Thranduil gasped and clutched his chest, excited sparkles in his eyes.

“Sigrid could take you to the library,“ Bard continued, “every single book in the world is there, I swear, you can read on anything you want! And then when the winter comes, you have to come and taste the hot pretzels this one old lady makes, don´t tell Sigrid I told you, but the old lady´s are actually better than hers...“

“You are _mean_!“ Thranduil laughed.

“During spring we have the most beautiful cherry trees you have ever seen, yo you can´t miss that either,“ Bard continued, “it´s like pink snow everywhere, we don´t have any proclaimed festivities for it but everyone celebrates neverthless and you will hate sugar after that because everyone will sell you candied blossoms!“

Suddenly he couldn´t stop himself. He went on to describe every event worth mentioning, just because Thranduil´s reactions to everything were so _delightful_. He just wanted to give him the city on a plate, with all its cherries on top. Screw the crown, Nobody cared about that at the moment. It was safely stashed under a loose plank in the floor, for spiders to play with until someone had time to turn it into money.

“Bard,“ Thranduil said when there finally weren´t hypothetical future plans to discuss, “I really, really don´t want to go home.“

Bard could hear the tears in his voice.

“My father loves me,“ Thranduil continued, “I have never doubted that. But now when I have seen this, which is probably the smallest possible amount of things that are out here to be seen, I´m realizing what my home has become and it hurts to think about it.“

“It´s a prison,“ Bard said quietly and the word dropped heavily between them.

“I don´t want to go back there, Bard, I don´t know what to do!“ Thranduil hid his face in the scarf and took several very deep breaths, trying to hold himself together.

Bard, despite feeling the best thing Thranduil could do was to run from the father as fast and as far as he could, understood the storm that must have been going on inside the poor creature. Thranduil held onto his father´s supposed love with everything he had because it _was_ everything he had. Asking him to throw it away just like this, for candied cherry blossoms and hot pretzels and uncomfortable bed in Bard´s home was maybe not entirely right.

_He uses him. You´ve seen it._

Did he though... “We´ll figure something out, Thranduil,“ Bard said, “I promise.“

* * *

“This is just typical. I send all my men in different directions and then I find a bloody _tower_.“

Sam Redgrave wiped his forehead and fought the urge to just plop into the grass and never move again. Noone would guess how difficult it was to just get here, through the trees. It had almost felt like they had been consistently being pushed away, they had tripped over every stone, every twig, every root. Oropher had fallen twice and bruised his palm badly. Sam had hit his head on a branch that had appeared out of nowhere. It had been the most aggravating twenty minutes imaginable.

Or maybe an hour.

None of them could tell precisely.

“I can´t find the door, Sam, I don´t think there is any,“ Oropher said.

He had taken off his cloak and had put his hair up in a bun, which made scouting the surroundings of the tower more comfortable, but still resulted in leaves caught everwyhere and dirty smudges on the forehead.

“Could it be it? The stash?“ the king asked.

“Only an idiot would have a giant tower as their stash,“ Sam frowned, “but then again, it is pretty concealed and if it really doesn´t have a door...“

The did bring grappling hooks for this very occasion. That is, nobody had expected to find giant tower but big trees could be tricky and thieves and bandits _adored_ to make treehouses in them.

The hook barely reached the window and not seeing what it got caught on, Sam counted on the chance he might fall and splatter at Oropher´s feet like an old cantaloupe dropped from the first floor. Oropher was aware of it and wouldn´t stop pacing under the tower until Sam safely reached the window. Then he followed him, with certain difficulties, because the soles of his boots were just too smooth and definitely not made for climbing towers.

“This is... disturbing,“ Oropher noted, when he caught his breath on the windowsill, “somebody lives here? How?“

“This place is so neat, I feel bad just thinking about turning it upside down,“ Sam shuddered.

“I don´t think this is a stash, Sam,“ Oropher shook his head, “do you smell that? That´s lavender. Nobody puts lavender in their stash.“

He carefully walked over to the bed, reached under the pillow and pulled out a small cloth bag filled with dried lavender. “See? Lavender.“

Sam noticed the slight tremor of the king´s hand.

“Is everything alright, Oropher?“

“I just haven´t seen anyone use lavender like this in a very long time,“ the king sighed and his composed expression just fell apart as he kept looking at the little bag in his hand. “You know, we used to put it in _his_ cradle.“

The captain already knew what to do in these moments of king´s weakness. They were pretty rare in the last few years, but they still occured. Similarly to long thin scars, barely visible on the backs of Oropher´s hands, these moments were not going anywhere, probably ever.

Sam walked over to the king and buried him in his embrace.

“I´m fine,“ Oropher whispered unconvincingly into his shoulder, “it´s just these little thing that set me of.“

“Just a little bit longer,“ Sam insisted, “you need it and you know we don´t get many chances to even hug, safe for anything else!“

He felt Oropher relax in his embrace and was relieved the crisis was averted, because the king actually started to laugh.

“Safe for anything else!“ he exclaimed, poking Sam in the chest. “What do you mean by _that_?“

“Don´t make me say it!“

“Then just do it, maybe?!“

Oropher´s ability to go from fragile trembling flower to _a challenger_ was baffling and incredible. Sam Redgrave was never the one to turn down challenges.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, guys! I´m running late but school´s getting intense. Thank you for all the feedback, it´s making me super happy :3   
> I hope you´ll enjoy this chapter, don´t hesitate to comment on anything that comes to your mind <3

_Do people normally worry about so many things during a kiss?_

Sam did, Sam worried. Did he grabbed the king´s chin too harshly? Quite probably. Was the king going to have a bruise from Sam´s stubble. Most definitely, Sam hadn´t shaved that morning. Did the king mind? Didn´t seem so but who knew, it was all happening so fast, it tasted like mint and it felt like nobody really knew what was going on.

They had kissed before but that was literal decades ago. And nobody had ever bothered to specify the nature of their relationship.

Sam considered himself a safe haven for any kind of Oropher´s feelings while having the privilege to be quietly in love with the most beautiful man in the kingdom and maybe even the world.

Oropher had moments where he really wanted to give in. Sam Redgrave was the embodiment of safety and certainity for him. There was something thoroughly human about him, he was an anchor that kept Oropher from drifting away into the dark world where the ghosts of his family lurked. They were the reason he was trying _not_ to give in.

Right now this effort was crumbling like a badly made sandcastle. Kissing Sam after such a long time, in such a strange place, with blood running wild from all the walking and climbing, it was clear a line was being crossed that couldn´t be crossed back. Except he didn´t care that much at the moment.

* * *

“What do you mean ´we´ll figure something out´ ?!“ Bain hissed. “Did you hit you head, da? What exactly are you figuring out? This is dangerous! It was dangerous before and now you are making it _more_ dangerous!“

“What do you want me to say, Bain, I´m winging this, I´m trying!“Bard defended himself

The boy wasn´t satisfied with that answer. “ _Why_? You´ve known for, what, _thirty hours_?“

“That doesn´t matter, alright, I can´t let him go back there!“

“Why do you care so much? He´s an adult, he cant deal with this on his own!“

“I am not convinced about that,“ Bard shook his head and rubbed his temples.

His head was hurting from all the thinking. The time was running out, the afternoon was dangerously approaching its old age. While Thranduil was outside with Tilda, Bard was sitting at his kitchen table, making list of prons and cons. The one with cons would ran out the door ten minutes ago, it was long.

Yet he was still tyring to find way around it.

“This is impossible,“ he sighed and buried his face into his sleeves, “I need more time, _way_ more time.“

“Send him home, da,“ Bain said. “He has been there for so long, he can hang on for a bit longer. If you really want to do this, we´ll come up with a proper plan, we´ll get ready and then we can save him or… whatever.“

“I will need you in this, Bain,“ Bard looked at his son with all the seriousness he could gather, “you have to be sure you want to help me. If you´re not, it´s okay. I get it. Just tell me now.“

Bain´s face was like sculpted from marble up to this point, but now he relaxed and smiled.

“I will do anything I can to help him, da. I like him. I can see _you_ like him too. I just don´t want you to rush things and end up cursed or dead or both. You have three children, for crying out loud.“

* * *

“That was an incredible waste of time. Crown searching-wise, of course,“ the captain said once they had returned to the palace.

There was a serious bitter aftertaste in his mouth after that kiss. The kiss itself warmed his heart, but the pointlesness of the whole afternoon was truly, _truly_ bitter.

They had searched the room as thoroughly and carefully as they managed without finding anything indicating a stash or even criminal presence for that matter. It was a strange room in a strange place, sure, but it was neat and sort of cute, but it was not a stash.

No crowns.

Oropher had seemed quiet on the way back. Unusually quiet. Oropher was quiet generally speaking, but this was that different kind of quiet. Upset quiet? Tired quiet? Sam had been pretty mad at himself for not being able to figure it out.

Now the king was absentmindedly drying his horse while the animal was nibbling on something green. None of them reacted to the expression of the captain´s frustration. When he was done, Oropher left with as much as a very silent ´good night, captain´despite the fact it wasn´t even evening yet.

He kept his composure until he reached his chambers, basically torn off the dirty clothes and sunk into the bath like a very sad stone. Something in that tower had sent his mood plummeting into the ground. It had risen so high up after that kiss that its fall was almost crippling an impossible to conceal. Oropher was incredibly grateful to Sam for not demanding an explanation. It might have been a smell, or a colour, or something very small he had noticed maybe with the corner of his eye what had sent him off the cliff. The bizzare familiarity of the room kept hanging at the back of his mind like an especially unsettling painiting.

* * *

“I´m not abandoning you,“ Bard said, “I want you to know that. And to be absolutely sure of it.“

They were playing it very close now. They both knew Bard should have left at least ten minutes ago, yet he was still sitting on the windowsill, firmly clutching Thranduil´s hand. Thranduil understood the plan, that is, the feeble shape of it they had. That didn´t mean he had to be happy with it.

“I will be back within a week,“ Bard continued, “until then, make up your mind. Take time to cool off. Think it through. This is a big thing, a big decision. I know it might seem like there is nothing to think about at this particular moment, but this can´t be rushed. No matter how you decide, I´m going to be back seven days from now.“

“I will be waiting, with one answer or the other,“ Thranduil nodded.

He seemed calm but his nails digging into Bard´s palms spoke the plain true. He hoped he would be able to pull himself together and Smaug wouldn´t recognize a thing, but at the same time he knew the nervosity already clung to him like a smell.

“Please be careful,“ he added and his voice was on the verge of cracking, “I don´t know what you´re doing but I know it is not safe, so please, be careful, Bard.“

“I promise.“

They hugged for the last time and then Bard returned to the ground, where Bain had been tapping his foot for some time now. The darkening sky, fluttering light of his lamp, the whole _aura_ of the tower were making the boy very uneasy. He wanted to get back before the city gates would close shut.

“Are we ready to go?“he whispered

“We are ready to go,“ Bard nodded and glanced up at Thranduil for the last time.

He was barely recognizable in the scarce remaining light and from that distance.

“Alright, so we are going...?“ Bain was restless and almost pulled his father away from the clearing.

“Calm down, Bain, we have time...“ Bard protested, despite knowing that wasn´t entirely true.

In fact he expected the father to emerge from behind a tree any second.

“It´s not that, I just feel like we should not be here right now.“

That turned out to be a very valid concern. Once they disappeared between the trees, the air got somewhat heavier and Bard knew it was _him_.

He pushed Bain to the ground and very distinctively implied that absolute silence was crucial at the moment. The boy fortunately understood very well.

Nobody walked into that clearing, nor flew, nor appeared in any other sort of at least mildly civilized manner. Instead a giant shadow swept down, covering the sky like a cloud and then getting significantly smaller, squishing itself into a shape of a human. Bard couldn´t see what it was and he was glad he couldn´t. Right now he struggled to understand how in the world he could possibly stay in the presence of that for hours. At the same time he intensively wished the week was over, he had Thranduil´s ´yes´and could get him the hell out of there.

The father disappeared into the tower without even looking over his shoulder.

“Da, what the everliving hell was that _thing_ ,“ Bain gasped, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.

“Thranduil´s faher.“

“Well that is a big pile of you know what,“ the boy scoffed, “that´s like saying a giant rattle snake gave birth to s tiny fluffy kitty!“

Bard laughed shortly. It was a very dark and very short laugh, however.

“That is actually a really good analogy.“

* * *

_Someone else had been in the tower._

Thranduil realized that once he looked around properly and inhaled the claustrophobic homeliness of his room. Things seemed to be in their places by they _weren´t_. Someone had moved them, almost unnoticeably, but they _had been moved_. There were dirty footprints on the floor, belonging to more than one person. His dried lavender, which Thranduil usually kept under his pillow, was sitting on the blanket.

Thranduil barely managed to sweep the floor a little before Smaug´s voice from down below demanded he let down his hair. Which was still in a braid.

“I almost took root down there,“ Smaug scoffed once he was finally under the roof.

“I´m sorry, father,“ Thranduil smiled and hugged him, mostly to hide his face, “it got tangled. I haven´t brushed properly today.“

“We have to take care of that right after dinner, then!“

Smaug layed out his basket on the table. There were pumpkins in it, which was strange because pumpkins were not in season right now. Thranduil was just about to ask about them when Smaug froze mid movement and looked around.

“Someone was here. Someone other than you.“

He dropped the pumpkin and quickly circled the room, resembling a skinny hellhound trying to sniff out an injured fawn.

“Nobody was here, father, I would have noticed, I´ve been here the entire time,“ Thranduil said but it didn´t have any effect.

“I hope you wouldn´t even think of lying to me, dear,“ Smaug turned to him and Thranduil would swear his eyes completely lost their human character in that moment.

He tried to sound truly offended by Smaug´s suggestion alone. “I... why would I even do that? Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me? I seriously don´t understand where this is coming from and frankly, father, it _hurts_.“

Smaug did not expect such strong opposition, he also seriously didn´t understand where that as coming from. Thranduil made him feel _guilty_. For the first time _ever_. Smaug hadn´t even known Thranduil was capable of that.

Thranduil himself, on the other hand, was positive he had overshot, had protested too strongly and basically had given himself away. He turned away, which Smaug thought was because he was so deeply hurt by his accusation, but Thranduil really just intended to hide the panic he felt spreading across his face.

“I´m sorry, son,“ Smaug said after a very heavy moment of silence and it was positively the weirdest thing that had ever come out of his mouth _ever_.

“I didn´t mean to be… harsh,“ he continued, sounding mildly surprised by himself, “maybe I am just agitated for no reason. The woods are getting too lively for my taste these days.“

_Oh you have no idea_ , Thranduil thought but reluctantly accepted the offered reconciling hug. It gave him a bit of confidence for the days to come. If he could keep it up for the week…

“Our protection is getting weaker, however,“ Smaug spoke, “I will reinforce it. To make sure nothing can get in.“

There was no ´or out´ said outloud but Thranduil knew it was there.

* * *

“Small Sam spoke, sir.“

That was unexpected. Captain Redgrave wasn´t sure he wanted to deal with that right away, the day had been intense enough as it was.

“It might be an _actual clue_ , sir, it goes together with what we already know, it fits. Just saying, sir,“ the soldier said nervously.

“Is it that obvious I don´t want to do this today?“ Redgrave raised one eyebrow but gestured at the young man to continue.

“Well, he gave us a name, sir. We carefully checked the man while you were outside with His Majesty and the others and he fits the miserable description we have, so Small Sam is probably not making this up… completely.“

“You know you can just give me the name, right,“ the captain frowned, “you don´t have to create suspense here, we´re not in a book, just tell me who it is.“

“His name´s Bard, sir. Maybe you know his kids.“


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo!  
> Guess who´s sick -_-. Anyways, here´s the next chapter! Thank you for the feedback, guys, I hope you´ll enjoy this one :3  
> Any comment on anything are welcomed and appreciated, they are cheering me up and I shall love forever anyone who takes the time to comment <3

There were some thing Sigrid didn´t like seeing at her doorstep.

Dog poo.

Drunks´ throw up.

_Guards._

“How can I help you, captain?“ she smiled so sweetly the men who stood behind Redgrave started to fear for the health of their teeth.

“Is you father at home, Sigrid?“

“Sure. Step right in,“ the girl stepped aside immediately.

Redgrave expected her to say ´no´ so it took him a second to catch up and actually step in. Bard was at home and looked absolutely unfrazzled by the authority´s presence, or at least was damn good at pretending so.

“Samuel! What brings you to our humble household, huh?“ he grinned with much more familiarity Redgrave had ever remembered them sharing.

“It´s you, in fact,“ he replied, “you´re under arrest.“

A sound of stoneware shattering on the ground made everyone flinch. Tilda dropped her bowl of porridge. Bain spat his tea and jumped to his feet, fists already clenched.

“I´m a what?“ Bard raised his eyebrows. “I think I misheard you, captain.“

“Small Sam gave us your name. According to his confession you have participated in the crown theft and now you are under arrest,“ Redgrave repeated coldly.

“I would suggest you come with me calmly, given your children are watching,“ he added.

Tilda´s eyes were burning a hole into his temple.

“Small Sam gave you a name,“ Bard repeated slowly, “and you are just... going for it. You´re going to lock up a father of three just because some guy told you to.“

“I´m not happy with this, Bard,“ Redgrave sighed and significantly lowered his voice, “but I _am_ going to lock up a father of three because up to this point, I´ve had _nothing_.“

He snapped his fingers and three men ran inside.

“Search the house,“ the captain ordered.

“If you break anything, I will break your neck,“ Sigrid hissed, wielding a broom like a weapon.

“Sigrid, take care of things while I´m gone, alright? And please, don´t murder anybody, we don´t need half the family in jail,“ Bard said while putting on a coat.

Tilda wrapped herself around his waist, first sobs surfacing. He gave her a kiss on top of head.

“It´s going to be okay, darling, I promise,“ he whispered, “help out your big sis. I´ll be home soon.“

The he left together with captain Redgrave, while the other ones stayed and were very thoroughly turning the house upside down under the ice cold glares of the children.

Only to find a perfect, absolute _nothing_.

* * *

This was a problem.

In fact, calling it a problem would be an understatement, this was a _disaster_. Why was Sigrid always right...

The crown was there, under the loose plank in the floor, the worst, stupidest, easiest to find hiding place the human mind had ever conceived. Every proper search started with trashing the cupboards and such and inevitably continued with examining the floor.

Small Sam grinned at Bard through the bars, when they brought him in. The cell was small and clearly not used much because it wasn´t dirty in the usual way. It was dusty and a colony of spiders created a nice living in its only miniature window. A couple of rats was sleeping in the corner. It seemed Bard and Small Sam were the only ones in here.

“So, where is it?“ Small Sam immediately inquired once the guards were far enough.

They settled by the door, one lit his pipe, the other one leaned back in a chair and clearly planned to sleep. With two prisoners in the entire prison there really wasn´t much to worry about.

“Where is what?“ Bard hissed back. “Why would you do this, Sam?“

“Oh, was I supposed to take the whole blame? My apologies, I misunderstood the assignment,“ Small Sam made a grimace and leaned forward.

“Where is it? Will they find it, Bard? Or did you sell it already?“

“They have nothing to find in my house and I did not sell anything,“ Bard replied, “and when we´re at it, I don´t even _have_ it and don´t know what you´re talking about!“

Small Sam glared at him across the quite narrow corridor.

“Maybe they won´t hang us if you tell them where it is,“ he whispered and it was a strange mixture of anger and plea.

“Oropher won´t hang anybody, he´s not that kind of a king. Or a man,“ Bard opposed.

It had been ages since the last execution in the kingdom. Bard was realizing their crime was probably the biggest crime commited since the disappearance of the prince. Maybe this was the time to start hanging people again.

* * *

There was something glistening in the grass, visible even from the incredible height of the window. Thranduil almost fell out trying to get a proper look. It looked like someone hid a small sun in the grass. The actual sun was almost put to shame. After several dozens of minutes filled with pointless leaning out of the window, he decided.

Just out and right back in. No problem. Outside wasn´t scary anymore, after all. Thranduil looked around just to make sure Smaug wasn´t coming for a surprise visit, even though it was improbable at this hour, and then climbed down.

The touch of grass was once again absolutely exhilirating. It was already among Thranduil´s favourite thing in the world and he tried it only twice. He was tempted to just ran around for a while but the nervosity of being outside alone got the better of him.

It was a crown. Thranduil picked it up from the grass and wiped the dirt off. There was a rag sticking out of the ground. The crown was wrapped in it and apparently hastily buried at the feet of the tower. Animals had accidentaly unburied it while sniffing around. It was dirty but clearly very beautiful and therefore probably very expensive.

Once back in his room, Thranduil carefully took out all the grass and cleaned off all the dirt. The thing looked so fragile and yet it was so heavy. Whoever had worn it, his head must have been hurting a lot from that weight. Thranduil circled each of the stones individually, watching his face fall apart in the facets. He would have sworn he had done this before, staring back at his own deformed reflections, but couldn´t remember where or when. Maybe he had played with one of Smaug´s treasure as a child. There really was no other explanation.

_It´s Bard´s_.

The thought came out of nowhere, almost as if it had always been there. Sitting in plain sight, legs crossed, just waiting to be heard.

_That is, it´s not Bard´s. It does not belong to him. He took it. And he hid it here. It´s actually really simple._

Thranduil almost turned around to see where that voice was coming from, so loud and clear it couldn´t possibly be just in his head. But it was and it was _right_. Probably right. It had to be right, unless the clearing around the tower was suddenly so popular with everyone random people hid their crowns there. That didn´t make a lick of sense, it had to be Bard´s.

Suddenly it all fit together like a nice little puzzle. The crown, Bard being chased and shot that other day, sneaking into the city so the guards wouldn´t see... Even whoever had been in the tower while Thranduil had been gone, They were looking for the crown.

Thranduil had suspected Bard had done something bad and while he was glad it wasn´t anything worse than a theft, it seemed to be pretty bad for a theft.

The crown was probably worth a lot. Thranduil picked it up and held it against the light. Bard wasn´t a common thief. He was certain of it. This thing was supposed to buy better futures for his children or something like that, Thranduil had read about these cases in a few books already. Sometimes good people did not so good thing for good reasons, it was one of the oldest stories in any book.

But the doubt was already there. Thranduil really wanted to believe Bard cared about him even though they barely knew each other, but the annoying voice in his head was pointing out that was not how such things worked. That Bard would come back for the crown in the first place and then maybe for Thranduil.

He shoved these thoughts under the matresse, together with the crown.

* * *

“Maybe we should just let it go. I hope it makes them happy, whoever has it,“ Oropher said.

It wasn´t bitter, sad or resigned, it was just empty.

Sam Redgrave was sitting on the king´s bed, face buried in the leather of his gloves. He didn´t say anything right away. Sigrid´s annoyed ´Are you done?´ was still ringing in his ears. She had been standing there with arms crossed, watching the guards cluelessly turn the _nothing_ they had found in their hands.

“They must have hidden it somewhere else. This has to be a valid lead, it has to!“ the captain grunted into his palms and immediately felt Oropher´s hand on his shoulder.

“It´s just a piece of jewellery, Sam.“

“But it´s _important_! It´s important to you, it´s _more_ than a piece of jewellery!“ Sam protested.

“It _is_ important to me,“ Oropher nodded, “that´s why I don´t want to keep chasing it anymore. These has been the most stressful, difficult days in the last twenty years, I´m tired and I don´t want to do this anymore.“

He took the captain by the chin and made him look up.

“Sam, please, come on. Let´s just drop this. Maybe it´s a sign. Clinging to false hopes for three decades isn´t healthy and maybe this is the gods´ way of telling me to stop it and finally move on.“

The king´s eyes were calm and soft and had the inexplicable power to melt Sam´s defiance like butter so the man just quietly gave up. If the king wants to ´just drop this´ then so be it.

“Is that an order, Your Majesty?“

“That is most definitely and order, captain.“

Oropher leaned in and kissed him. He liked how scratchy it was and secretly hoped Sam would skip shaving from time to time, because he was definitely planning on kissing him more and more often. Letting go was the right thing to do but not the easy thing to do. The king was going to need every distraction he could get. Not being alone in all of this was a great distraction.

* * *

“It couldn´t stay in the house! So I took it elsewhere,“ Bain shrugged, “it´s safe and noone can find it there, I guarantee you that!“

“I´m just saying, you could have told me... _us_ , you could have told us!“ Sigrid said sharply.

“Yeah, Bain, you could have told us!“ Tilda joined in. “You know I don´t like surprises! Do you think they´ll let da go now?“

“They better, or I´m coming for all of them,“ Sigrid mumbled while cleaning a pot aggressively, “so he better be home for dinner. Where´s the crown, by the way?“

“I hid it at Thranduil´s place,“ Bain replied, “buried it under the tower while da was saying goodbye.“

The girls exchanged a look silently acknowledging that was in fact a pretty good hiding place. The people who knew about it could be counted on the fingers of a single hand. The only downside was the entire week that was now between them and retrieving the crown.

“I can´t wait to have Thranduil back,“ Tilda said after a while, “he was kinda odd, but I really liked him."

She was absentmindedly pushing crumbs forth and back on the table, dangling her feet in the air, a perfect image of a little girl.

“What do you mean ´odd´?“ Sigrid asked.

She agreed, Thranduil _was_ sort of odd but she really wanted to hear Tilda´s interpretation of the word. What was odd to a seven-year old wasn´t necessarily odd to teens.

“Well, you have to admit he looked like he just crawled out of a fairytale book! He´s so pretty and has the longest hair in the world and lives in a tower... he´s basically a princess!“ Tilda explained.

“Does that make da prince charming?“ Bain chuckled.

Girls looked confused.

“Oh come on!“ Bain laughed in disbelief. “Like you two haven´t noticed! Da is totally into him!“

“You think so?“ the girls said in unisono.

Sigrid´s voice was filled with doubt but Tilda´s was excited and even hopeful.

“Of course!“ Bain continued. “I can´t believe you didn´t pick up on it, I haven´t seen him look at someone like this in ages.“

“Do you think they could... oh, that would be so great!“ Tilda whispered with sparkles in her eyes.

“It would, definitely,“ Sigrid agreed, “but don´t forget the happy ending never come easy, Tilda!“

“Yeah, they don´t,“ Bain nodded, “especially in Sigrid´s stories. Actually, happy ending _never come_ in Sigrid´s stories.“

His sister smacked him with a tea towel.

“What I meant,“ she continued, “was that the hero in a story always faces some kind of a struggle. Curses, dragons and stuff. And when we´re at it, da is a thief. Not sure if that counts as a hero.“

“Of course da´s a hero, he´s _our da_!“ Tilda protested loudly.

“How dare you, sister,“ Bain scoffed in pretended offense, “isn´t raising _us_ heroic enough for you?"

“You two clowns are unbelievable!“

* * *

_Oropher was back in the tower. Alone._

_There was no air, there was no light, there was no room, just the knowledge of being in the tower and the horrible feeling of familiarity._

_Every step threatened to be a step into an abyss._

_He tried to call for Sam but he couldn´t produce a sound. The wasteness of the unseen tower was crushing him._

_Then a pair of hands emerged from the darkness, grabbing him by the forearms. It teared the fabric of his sleeves and the very skin of his arms into shreds._

_And then it all ended, unexpectedly briefly._

Still, Oropher woke up screaming a name and there was blood on his covers.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo!  
> It´s been like two years since I updated, wasn´t it? Yeaah, sorry...   
> I was kinda frustrated with this whole thing and I was mad at this thing and I don´t know if I finally have it on the track or what...  
> Anyways, here´s another chapter, I hope whoever´s left here will enjoy it! Don´t hesitate to tell me anything in the comments. Love you guys! <3

“Don´t misinterpret this,“ captain Redgrave said when unlocking the cell, “I don´t trust you. Just because we haven´t found anything doesn´t mean you are clean. I know you have it but the king himself decided he is done with this case because it´s tressing him out, so, yeah, I guess we are letting you two go.“

He looked highly unsatisfied with the situation but was apparently in no position to change it. Bard supressed the urge to pat him on the back and assure him he had done a really good job. He waited until Redgrave unlocked the Small Sam´s cell as well, walked up to the fellow criminal and punched him. Redgrave didn´t object. Small Sam hurled curses at Bard and his nose was now bleeding.

“I´m going to see myself out,“ Bard said, “thank you for your service, captain.“

Redgrave waved at him to go. He had different things on his mind.

Bard kept his pace casual until he walked past the last guard and then he ran.

_They hadn´t found anything._

How was that possible?! The kids had either hidden it or they had done something responsible and _stupid_ , like burying it in a place noone would ever find again. Bard trusted his children most of all other fellow humans but he had a feeling Sigrid was kind of fed up with things and would consider resorting to a solution of this responsible and stupid kind.

He barged into the house without knocking and made Bain drop his book.

“Da! You´re home!“

“Bain, where is it?“ Bard asked immediately, the words flying out before a simple ´hello´ could get in front of them.

“It´s fine, da,“ Bain said with a strange glint in his eye, “I took care of it. You can pick it up together with Thranduil.“

_And winked._

“Are you dropping hints?“ Bard said in disbelief. “This is dangerous, Bain, tell me where it is!“

“Why do you need to know so much?“ Bain frowned. “Focus on getting Thranduil, the crown won´t wither with age in a tower and die!“

“You do realize that thing is your _futures_ , right?“ Bard frowned back. “It wasn´t easy to get and all I want is not to loose it. It´s not some sort of newly developed greed talking from me, Bain, I just want things to finally start going the way I originally planned!“

“It´s under Thranduil´s tower, da,“ the boy replied, “as I said, you can pick it up together with Thranduil.“

“See? Was that so hard?“ Bard poured himself a bit of milk and grabbed some old bread from the basket.

He didn´t realize he was actually really hungry. S _ometimes life makes one forget about stuff like eating, I guess. This bread however, is horrible. The baker´s definitely robbing people with this._

“We are going to speed up our plan. _My_ plan... or whichever you like. I´m not waiting a whole week to get Thranduil back. I´m going in two days,“ Bard said.

Bain said nothing. He struggled to understand whether ´Thranduil´ in this sentence stood for ´the crown´ or not.

* * *

“I´m back at the tower,“ Oropher said slowly, “except that it appears _not to be there_. It´s dark and empty but there is this feeling... you know, you just _know_ that you are in that tower. Then _it_ attacks me. I wake up and I realize I scratched my arms bloody.“

Sam was looking at the long red scratches on the king´s forearm and his stomach was twisting. They both knew exactly what it was that kept attacking Oropher in his sleep the past three days. What scared the captain were the _connections_ that begged to be drawn between things.

“It will sound insane,“ Oropher spoke again, draping the sleeves over his forearms, “but I don¨t think these are coincidences-“

“Of course they are not coincidences,“ Sam shrugged, “so much stuff has happened, the crown, the tower, it´s poking the wound, it´s waking up old memories and that is why you are having the nightmares, it´s... it´s a natural reaction to overstimulation. I think.“

“But what if it´s something more, Sam?“ the king sighed. “Maybe I´m not supposed to let go. Ever. Maybe it is meant to drive completely crazy until I throw myself out of the window!“

Captain Redgrave roughly grabbed Oropher´s face: “Don´t. Say that. EVER. This will pass. I promise.“

“What if he´s in there, Sam?“ Oropher whispered. “The lavender...“

“People put lavender into their beds. It´s not that special,“ Sam replied more sharply than he had inteded and immediately regretted it.

“Sorry, I didn´t mean to... Oropher, this is not healthy, you said it yourself! I don´t want to see you hurting again! This might come off really selfish but I can´t take that again! I _can´t_!“

“You won´t have to,“ Oropher pressed his forehead against Sam´s, “I promise.“

Their lips were so close it was almost a kiss.

“How inappropriate would it be for a king to share a room with a soldier?“ Oropher whispered under the influence of their sudden proximity and also a sudden inspiration.

“You´re a king. You can do whatever you want,“ Sam raised his eyebrows. “Should I consider this an order, Your Majesty?“

“You should.“

* * *

Days got somewhat longer all of a sudden, same as the evenings with Smaug. Not letting anything on was more difficult than Thranduil had anticipated, especially with the crown now stacked under the matresse.

When he was alone, he´d take it out and watch his broken reflections in its gemstones for _hours_. He liked the familiar feeling of it. The more he´d do it, the stronger it got and it felt right and comforting. Certainly a better passtime than counting minutes and awaiting bedtime that would move him closer to leaving with Bard. Also it distracted him _from_ leaving with Bard, which was very welcomed because there were moments which bordered on a panic attack.

Thranduil struggled to imagine himself just packing a few things and leaving forever, with ´forever´ being the key word here. Leaving with a prospect of coming back eventually was easy. But both the lack of certainity and abundance of it in leaving _forever_ was scary.

Thranduil tried several times to make a list of things he would need to pack but always found himself unable to leave anything behind. That only led to him questioning whether he even _wanted_ to leave, which bothered him incredibly because he _did_ , he wanted to leave, of course he wanted, after seeing just a mere fraction of what the world had to offer, he _did want to leave_.

But it couldn´t be done just like that, like in the books, where the princess eloped with a random stranger and didn´t bat an eye. Deep down Thranduil was almost proud of his struggle. It meant he didn´t lack the ability to think rationally. Even though he had glowig hair and spent his life in a tower.

“There is clearly something on your mind and I would very much appreciate if you told me,“ Smaug said one evening when they were eating dinner together.

There were three days left.

“Nothing in particular, really,“ Thranduil shrugged with overdone casuality, “don´t you think the soup could use a little more salt?“

“Don´t change the topic, dear,“ Smaug frowned, putting aside his spoon, “something is bothering you, I can tell. Come on.“

Well, there was no way out of this, Once on a track, Smaug would hardly give up until he sniffed the thoughts out like a hound would sniff out a bleeding fox. Thranduil straightened his back and took a deep breath.

“I was just thinking,“ he said, “maybe this year I could... watch the song day from up close. You know. We could go together. I´d be safe if you were with me. It doesn´t even have to be the song day, I could just go with you on one of your... wherever you are going when you are not here.“

“Thranduil,“ Smaug sighed heavily, “I thought we were done having these conversations.“

“Done? We barely had any!“ Thranduil protested with more vigor than intended.

“We are still _done_!“ Smaug snapped.

An inhumanly deep undertone snuck into his voice this time and it made Thranduil flinch. It was as if storm clouds suddenly started to gather around his father´s head.

“For the last time, you are nor leaving this tower, ever!“ he continued sharply. “There are _ugly things_ outside, things that snatch babies from the hands of their mothers, and things that will rip your throat out for that one coin you´re carrying in your pocket, things that take anything and anyone without any consent whatsoever, and if any of those things got their hands on you, you wouldn´t even manage to kindly remember the good days you have spent in the tower, or call for help or remember your name, you would be torn to shreds by all the rotten ugliness in seconds! You are not leaving this tower! _Ever_!“

Alright, Thranduil thought, just wanted to confirm.

_Lies_. _Maybe there are such things but the way you say it, it´s lies. Lies and lies. And more lies._

It was making him genuinely sad, sad to the point of crying. His father lied to him for years and continued to do so without any visible regret. Who wouldn´t cry over that. Thranduil swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I´m sorry, father,“ he said quietly, “I didn´t mean to upset you. Are you done? I´m going to clean up now, are you done with your plate?“

“You are giving me reasons to mistrust you, son. I am disappointed. I thought you knew I have always wanted only the best for you.“

“Of course, father,“ Thranduil replied, not looking into Smaug´s eyes.

He simply picked up his plate and moved on to washing dishes. He couldn´t supress the coldness in his voice. Smaug could be disappointed all he wanted, Thranduil was too.

_Regardless of what Bard will really come back for, I´m leaving._

* * *

“Be careful, da. You both be careful. If you get caught with that thing it´s over, for all of us.“

Sigrid spoke very firmly and wouldn´t stop brushing invisible dirt off her father´ shoulders. Bard was all set to go, she was the only thing actively stopping him.

“The sooner I go, the sooner we´ll be back, darling,“ Bard smiled.

“I know, I know,“ she sighed, “I´m done, so go. Shoo shoo. I have a Tilda to find.“

Bard kissed his daughter on top of her head and watched her disappear into the crowd, caling Tilda´s name. The younger one´s attention was impossible to keep in one place whenever they were on the marketplace. Tilda was aware of her da not leaving forever, so their goodbye was very brief and quick.

Nothing was ready in the way they had orginally planned but Bard had refused to wait any longer. There was a place for Thranduil to sleep, a place where he could put his things and _definitely_ a place at the table. That was al they needed at the moment. As far as the food went, Sigrid was pretty confident they would manage with one more person in the house. So Bard was calm. Until he thought of _the father_.

Therefore he spent the way to the tower trying not to think of the father. It was easy, in fact, because the way was not. Bard could feel something actively pushing him off the right path, leading him astray, turning him around, making him walk in the circle around the same _five damn trees_ again and again and again... It was getting really aggravating. Like tearing through a really thick cobweb that was sentient and intentionally annoying.

Bard would have sworn he was walking around one spot for hours before he finally got through the trees and saw the tower. He looked around its base before he called Thranduil. There was nothing, except for one patch where someone had clearly been digging, a shallow hole, empty. Bard wasn´t happy about it but decided to solve that problem upon their departure.

“What...Bard!!“

There was an unclear mixture of both kinds of surprise on Thranduil´s face, good and bad.

“What are you doing here so early?“ he asked when Bard climbed up. “I´m not really ready to go yet but if you give me like ten minutes...“

“I couldn´t wait any longer,“ Bard admitted, hugging him tightly, “but if you reached your decision...“

“I did, as a matter of fact,“ Thranduil said.

His eyes looked different from the last time they saw each other. Less huge and starry, somewhat hardened and more... Bard couldn´t quite put his finger on it. It was as if Thranduil had suddenly returned to reality after floating among stars for years and years.

“I´m coming with you,“ he said simply.

“Are you absolutely sure?“

“Yes.“

He _was_. Bard could see it in his movement, as Thranduil started to quickly throw together things to take with him. His walk was _angry_. His stiff posture too.

“Did you have an argument? Is this a bad time?“ Bard asked because that sight was truly befuddling to him.

“No, no, definitely not a bad time, I´m still stuck in this... place, there´s no such thing as a _bad time_ for me, I´m afraid,“ Thranduil shook his head, “and we didn´t really argue... I just... I decided that I am _done_ , you know. I´m actually really glad you came early. I can use this anger to make the decision properly. If I calmed down, I´d probably chickened out at the end.“

He turned to Bard and completely changed the topic. “Do you think you could braid my hair again? It proved pretty useful the last time.“

“Sure.“

Thranduil sat down, twisting a tunic in his hands and Bard carefully started to divide the hair. A little voice in his mind told him to bring up the crown but this was not the right moment. There hadn´t been a right moment since he´d gotten here, as a matter of fact.

Ironically, there was another little voice, in Thranduil´s head, telling him the same thing but Thranduil struggled with exactly the same. He waited for Bard to say something but he didn´t seem to be planning on doing so and that raised a disturbing amount of doubt in Thranduil´s mind. He tried to shake it off. The crown was not important right now. What was important right now was to get out of here while the anger was still flaming.

“What do you do,“ he started after a moment of really heavy silence, “when you find out your entire life might have been a lie. Do people outside ask this question often? Do they even _have_ this problem?“

“I´m sure they do,“ Bard replied in a tone that would not be described as ´sure´,“I don´t know what to do about it, fortunately I´ve never had this issue... do you... have this issue?“

“My father keeps telling me how horrible and dangerous the world and now when I know it´s not, I just can´t... he´s either lying to me or he´s paranoid to that point where he is willing to imprison his own child and I really don´t know what to do and when I leave now, I fear it will absolutely destroy him and that I´ll have regrets forever, but at the same time I just can´t stay here, I can´t, I can´t, I can´t!“

“Hey!“ Bard grabbed Thranduil´s face and looked as deep into his eyes as possible. “Take a breath.“

Thranduil did. “The world isn´t perfect, alright,“ Bard continued, “but it´s not all bad. I can tell you that much. I don´t know your dad. I don´t _want_ to know your dad, to be completely honest but he doesn´t seem like the type that has a reason to be paranoid about the world, more like the other way around. No to mention kids have to get bruised and scraped to actually learn something. You will be fine. If not, you can go back. If your father loves you, he will understand why you left and he will understand why you came back.“

Even as he was saying it, he knew the father would not understand anything and that Thranduil did not have the option of return.

They left just in time to see the sky grow pink and orange. Thranduil grew nervous alongside with it. They were approaching the dangerous part of the day, not dangerous in general but dangerous for leaving a tower he had been specifically told not to leave. He was just very firmly holding onto Bard´s hand.

“Don´t worry. We have time,“ Bard said, “if your father was close, I´d knew it. One does not forget such kind of shivers easily.“

“Shivers?“ Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “My father gives you _shivers_?“

“Not the good kind of shivers. Your dad is a character.“

They walked into the woods, both taking a deep breath before stepping between the trees, as if they were about to dive into the green. Bard concentrated entirely on walking in the correct direction. He could _feel_ himself geting lost and given how Thranduil´s grip grew stronger the longer they were walking, he probably did too.

“Something feels off,“ he said after a while, “really really off.“

“I know. Ignore it. Or, try to ignore it,“ Bard replied.

He would be calmer if things were looking familiar, at least he´d knew they were walking in the circle, but right now he couldn´t recognize anything and that was midly disturbing. Thranduil knew exactly what it was. _Smaug´s protection_. He didn´t say anything, It would only require a ton of explaining and produce more anxiety. He pushed it at the back of his mind, where one secret was already resting – the crown. He wasn´t proud of it, but at the moment, it was the lesser evil.

“I see a road!“ Bard exclaimed.

He never felt more excited about a road. Only to be majorly disappointed within seconds because that was not the road. It was just _a_ road. A random road that led somewhere, the problem was Bard didn´t know where. The light was running out and the pressure of the father´s imminent arrival to the tower was growing. They weren´t far enough yet to get lost, they couldn´t _afford_ to get lost.

“Bard?“ Thranduil´s face was pale with worry. “We need to hurry. He´s coming.“

“I know, I know, I just...“ Bard desperately looked around, trying to recognize at least a single branch from his surroundings, “I´m lost. I don´t know where we are.“

Before Thranduil managed to react to that, a roar shook the forest. The sound was so deep it was barely noticeable at first but then it came like a shock wave, a thundering horror washing over the trees and bending them. No explanation was needed for where and whom it came from.

Thranduil, however, had a very clear plan about how to proceed. He grabbed Bard´s hand and ran.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! Here comes the next chapter. more or less on time! Thank you for the feedback, I really appreciate it, it always makes my day to see a comment notification :3 So don´t hesitate to tell me stuff or just leave a keyboard smash! I hope you´ll like it, I´m still trying to get my shit together here, not sure how that is going... eh.

“Where are we running?!“

“Doesn´t matter, just keep running!“

Something briefly covered the sky. Bard threw himself at the roots of a random nearby tree and tore Thranduil down with him. The shadow passed above them, then back again a few minutes later and then everything felt silent.

They stayed down, motionless, hidden in the green of grass and brown of fallen leaves, afraid to as much as breath. Thranduil´s blue eyes were sinking so deep into Bard´s own he was sure they could actually see the bottom of his soul.

“Thranduil, _what_ is your father exactly?“ Bard whispered.

“Wh...what?“

Thranduil had been purposely avoiding that question for years and years.

“If you know, please, _do_ tell me,“ Bard implored, “I´d be much less terrified if I knew what I´m terrified of!“

“He´s ...a... I´m not sure, a warlock? I think he´s a warlock,“ Thranduil replied, “I´ve never seen him do magic, though. And certainly not fly! When he comes over, he usually just...“

He paused hesitantly.

“He _what_?“ Bard´s eyes grew wider.

“...cooks,“ Thranduil finished the sentence no less hesitantly.

They were quietly looking at each other in complete silence, then Bard started to chuckle into his palm. It eventually grew into a full blown laughter, so infectious Thranduil had to join. It felt surprisingly great. Rolling around on the ground, laughing like an idiot with danger around the corner, this seemed like something free people would do. What spoilt the moment a little was that Thranduil´s mind offered the word ´free´ as the suitable adjective.

“Alright. We have to go,“ Bard decided when they gathered themselves and caught their breath, “I don´t know in which direction, but we have to go. And if don´t make it to the city before dusk, we´ll have to take cover somewhere. Your head would practically make us a beacon, once the moon is up.“

“Bard?“

“Hmm?“

“Thank you. For dealing with all this just for me,“ Thranduil said.

There appeared to be a special emphasis on the end of the sentence. It stung a little and Bard found himself wondering, if this arrow had been fired on purpose or not.

“You´re welcome,“ he replied in a neutral tone that was in an innapropriate contrast with Thranduil´s warm thanks.

They headed in a direction where they assumed the city was. The light was quickly running out and Bard was beginning to think that _the father_ had given up way too easily. When the moon appeared, Bard´s heart and mind were firmly in the grip of paranoia. Thranduil could feel it through his palm. His heartbeat was speaking the plain truth.

“Don´t be scared, Bard,“ Thranduil said softly, pulling Bard´s arm closer, “he can´t find us this deep in the woods. Or, he could, but not easily.“

“Your sudden optimism is very refreshing,“ Bard admitted, “but I am not so sure about the timing. Even _I_ can´t find us this deep in the woods. Maybe we should risk it and set up a camp for tonight.“

“I am sort of sleepy,“ Thranduil admitted.

A yawn followed, as a proof of it.

Bard found a spot where the grass was more even and Thranduil handed him a blanket. It was more or less impossible to make comfortable sleeping arrangements in such conditions, no matter how romantic the books had made it look. It was cold and sort of wet and when they lay down, the tossing and turning and mutual complaints continued for quite a few minutes, before Bard fell asleep and Thranduil bit down on his own discomfort and tried to do the same. He pulled the scarf over his head and hoped the moonlight wouldn´t get too close. Or not close at all, preferably.

* * *

Oropher hadn´t realized how cold his bed had been those past decades. Hearing another person´s breath, feeling another person´s warmth next to his own…

_Am I touch starved?_

“Your Majesty, I can feel you staring at me,“ Sam said.

He was laying kind of shyly on top of the covers, arms crossed over his chest and fully clothed (which was frankly quite disappointing to Oropher), ready to jump up at the slightest sign of something out of ordinary.

“I´m sorry, I can´t help it,“ Oropher whispered, “a pillow won´t cut it anymore, now when you are in the room.“

Sam opened his eyes. “Your flirting is horrible, Oropher.“

The king looked genuinely offended, at least as far as Sam could see in the moonlight.

“Don´t make me flirt, then,“ he said and shuffled closer to the captain who with pretend reluctance opened his arms to him.

The king was a tall man but his frame was smaller than Sam´s, it was almost like embracing a woman. He snuggled up as close to the soldier´s chest as possible. Sam had to spit out a few strands of long hair but overall their new position was pretty comfortable. Huddled together like birds in a nest.

It helped. Oropher fell asleep within minutes. Sam´s arm started cramping also within minutes but he wouldn´t even think about moving. One does not move when the king is sleeping in one´s hug. A very simple rule which also applied to kittens, puppies and bunnies.

The captain himself managed to doze off too, though his sleep was much lighter and every single movement of Oropher´s, even the tiniest twitch of his fingers, pushed him onto the brink of waking up. That was why he immediately noticed when the king´s heart sped up and his breath lost its regular pace.

A scream was already building up inside Oropher´s chest when Sam woke him up. The king sat up sharply, clutching his chest, but not yet covered in cold sweat or gasping for air and fortunately far from hurting himself again. The crisis was averted or at least it seemed so.

“Oropher?“ Sam carefully touched the king´s shoulder.

“I´m good, thank you, Sam.“ Oropher brushed the hair of his face and took a very deep breath.

The dream was a bit different this time. The uncanny feeling of something dangerous closing in was enhanced by the rough shape of a child in Oropher´s arms. Sam woke him up before the tiny figure took shape. It didn´t need to take shape, Oropher knew who the child was and was incredily grateful for not being forced to look at his face.

“Are you sure?“ Sam didn´t look convinced.

“Yes. I´m fine. Let´s get back to sleep,“ Oropher replied quickly and pulled him back onto the pillow. “Would you hold me again? I´m cold.“

He wiggled his way into Sam´s hug again and firmly closed his eyes. When the sleep came again, Oropher sunk in deep enough to reach the state where dreams had very little power. Sam listened to his still slightly nervous breath and eventually came to a bitter realization – this thing was not going to let itself be dropped. No matter how much the king wanted, no matter how much the captain wanted. Old wounds were opened and it would take more than a shared bed to close them.

It certainly was a wise first step though. Sam carefully adjusted a lock of hair on the king´s head. He was not going to sleep properly tonight but he didn´t mind that much. He was definitely going to mind in the morning but who cared about that right now.

* * *

Bard woke up in the middle of the night with a strange feeling. Sigrid sometimes spooked Tilda with stories about mysterious things that watched people at night and their gaze was actually powerful enough to wake one up. Bard was not happy to be remembering this right now.

Thranduil´s scarf was everywhere except on his head now and he looked sound asleep. The moonlight had managed to find a way in after all and the braid was now coiling around them like a stream of light, making the scene quite otherwordly, though potentially attractive to various creatures that just happened to be way into light. It was beautiful, slightly hurtful to Bard´s freshly awakened eyes, but still beautiful.

Thranduil mumbled something in his sleep and turned to the side, one of his hands blindly searching for something or someone in Bard´s spot. No matter how uncomfortable the ground was, it was no match for one way too exciting afternoon after all.

Thranduil was now too occupied with dreaming to care whether he was sleeping on the ground or a matresse. Whatever it was, it was soft and smelled amazing and there was a couple of pale heads leaning over him. There was a lot of sparkles and light. Thranduil felt great. He reached for the unseen faces and was surprised to see a small pink soft hand appear that couldn´t possibly be his. It was so tiny…? He was confused but happy, therefore he didn´t worry about it.

His tiny pink hand grabbed something what turned out to be strand of hair. Somebody lifted him up and he saw a pair of light soft eyes and a lot of golden locks with shiny stones in them, like small hidden suns. The woman laughed and talked to him in a silly baby voice. Then she handed him over to a different embrace. Thranduil caught barely a glance of the other person´s face but even the glance was enough to spark a feeling within the dream.

It had to be dream, Thranduil deducted that from those tiny hands and sparkling air and other things that didn´t fit into his current narrative, such as _a woman_. And now there was this strong feeling of familiarity, a _familiar feeling of familiarity_ that jerked him awake and frankly was crossing the line. It was way too real, it didn´t fit well with all the comforting happy sweetness aurrounding the unevenly defined figures. Like a cold shower. Not necessarily bad but not necessarily great either.

Thranduil rubbed his eyes. There was too much light. Half blinded he draped the scarf over his head again and murmuring indistinctly he returned to his improvised bed. After a brief consideration, he moved closer to Bard. Freshly yet barely awake with nothing but darkness (minus the glowing hair) and spooky trees all around, that made one feel quite vulnerable.

“Everything alright, Thranduil?“ Bard mumbled from the strange place between being awake and being asleep.

“Mmmhm. Just had a weird dream,“Thranduil yawned, “do you mind if I get closer? I´m cold.“

* * *

The morning was glum.

Even that would still be a pretty optimistic description. When Bain wobbled sleepily into the kitchen, he found Sigrid sleeping on her folded arms on the table. She had been up all night, waiting for Bard and Thranduil to come home. Clearly that had not happen.

“I don´t even have the energy to worry. At this point, I´m just angry,“ Sigrid admitted when Bain served her a cup of herbal tea and a piece of cheese and bread. “I´m tired and angry. I´m going to turn bitter for good if something doesn´t change soon, Bain.“

“I wish I knew what to say to that,“ Bain sighed.

He was not that great in comforting people that were prone to worrying about things way more than he did. Sigrid had taken on the role of a mother in their family, she had probably assumed it was an unremovable part of the job description.

“How long until we will have to tell someone?“ Sigrid asked. “Because if they don´t show up, we´ll have to tell someone. I refuse to heroically head to their rescue only on our own.“

“We can handle that!“

“I haven´t said we couldn´t, I´ve said we are not doing it. Someone has to think clearly in this family,“ she opposed sharply. “Tilda is a child.“

“So? She can kick butt!“

“ _Bain!_ “

“Alright, alright, I see your point,“ the boy sighed, “I´m just not sure where exactly you would like to got for help. The city watch? The palace guard? The city watch is useless and the palace guard does ninety percent of their job, including _arresting our father_ like yesterday. I wouldn´t count on them wanting to help.“

“They don´t have a thing on us,“ Sigrid reminded him.

Bain made a grimace. “That´ just one more reason for Redgrave to be mad at us, honestly.“

“I don´t think he holds grudges,“ Sigrid shook her head, “I´m givin da a few more hours and then we´re telling the guards. Decision made.“

* * *

The tavern was hidden under a canopy of branches right next to the road. Bard couldn´t tell whether that was another road or whether they had taken a really big u-turn somewhere but he did recall hearing about a tavern north from the city, where nobody ever stopped because it had become a meeting place of various low-lives. This could have easily been it. Bard doubted there were many taverns along the road in the forest.

“This might not be entirely safe,“ he admitted to Thranduil, “but we need to eat something and ask for directions, so stay with me, don´t make eye contact with anybody and we´ll be fine. I hope.“

Thranduil adjusted his scarf. “Got it.“

He was a bit startled by the prospect of danger this early in the morning but determined not to let it show. Come to think of it, everything was startling to Thranduil, not only extreme cases sich as a tavern full of criminals but also mediocre everyday things, like a long empty road or an unfamiliarly looking flower. Living in a tower just took a certain toll and there was very little Thranduil could do about it, except get used to everything at once, which was way more easily said than done.

He straightened himself and tried to imitate Bard´s confident strout as they walked into the tavern. It smelled worse than it looked. A small packed place which strangely kept an atmosphere of a late night despite the early hours, occupied by some ten or twelve people of mean demeanor and body odor. Everything appeared to be in various shades of earthy colours, like a small world on its own where they had never heard of bright red or blue.

There were both men and women but one could scarcely tell a difference under the hoods and shadows. Thranduil would have sworn he even saw a child, maybe a teen, simply a very young person that should definitely not be in this environment. They were tossing a knife in the air and looked pretty happy though. So maybe this was the perfect environment for them.

Bard headed straight for the bar, accompanied by several looks but to Thranduil´s relief ignored by many others. He knocked on the bruised wood that had probably seen more pub fights than any tavern in the city, and a big man with even bigger sideburns appeared.

“Welcome. What´s your poison, fellas?" he raised eyebrows that looked more like fluffy catterpillars than actual eyebrows. “We have beer... beer and, yeah, also beer."

“Any food with all that beer?" Bard asked.

“Depends, my friend. Can you pay? ´Cause you don´t like you can," the sideburns said.

Bard sighed and reached into his pocket. The coin rang dangerously loudly on the wood but the barkeeper made it disappear before anybody else even noticed. “

That will get you two bowls of stew but not a spoon more. Unless there´s more where that came from."

“There might be but we´ll take the stew, thanks," Bard grinned and pulled Thranduil to the side where an empty table was hiding in the shadows.

It was incredible how many shadows this place had despite also having regular windows through which sunlight and such things could get in. Maybe it came with the reputation.

Thranduil frowned at the bowl of a suspicious brown-ish stuff that had landed in front of him. His stomach was ready to take in anything, however, and upon seeing that Bard was not dead after eating a spoonful of it, he dug in. It tasted better than it looked, though it would be in the best interest of the customer not to ask about the origin of meat, that could be _anything_.

“The hunger really is the best chef, isn´t it," Bard noted after the meal, “I´m pretty sure there was something horrific in that stew but I don´t care, it did hit the spot."

“I didn´t realize I was this hungry," Thranduil admitted.

 _My father would flip_ , he thought to himself.

Smaug was very peculiar about what he puts on the table, at least Thranduil always had this impression. It had to be healthy and fresh and overall good for his child. This stew was anything but that.

_If he is after us, he´s doing a terrible job. Thank gods._

* * *

Smaug picked up the hair. Long and pale blond. Like breadcrumbs on a trail.

There was another one stuck on a bush among a handful of berries. An one more a few steps ahead on a low hanging branch.

It was simple. In such length, Thranduil couldn´t prevent losing hair all over the place, they got caught and plucked without him even noticing. He was leaving them behind like footprints and it did not took a long time for Smaug to come across the tavern. It was the easiest thing in the world, now when he was relatively calm and not blinded and irrational with rage. And that place was just _filthy_.

Smaug peeked inside through a window. Thranduil was impossible to miss, even though he clearly tried a lot. He was so staggeringly different from any other person in that place that hiding was not even n option to begin with. Smaug felt a grin growing on his face. If someone had looked into that window at that specific moment, they would be traumatized for the rest of their lives.

He cracked the knuckles of his freakishly long fingers. How wonderful to be done with this so quickly. The greatest treasure will be back in the chest soon. Properly locked from now on.

Then again... Smaug squinted at the people inside. Dirty, rugged, clearly cutthroats of various degrees. The man sitting next to Thranduil didn´t look much better. Maybe this was the taste of the real world Thranduil needed to properly appreciate what he was given in the tower. And to understand that everything Smaug had ever done was only to protect him. It didn´t matter how much of it was true, Smaug just needed Thranduil to believe it.

Smaug´s inner magpie really wanted to simply grabbed the shiny and return in on the top of the pile but the rest of him saw an _opportunity_. To make an omelette one must break some eggs. In this case eggs being Thranduil.

Smaug was very close to rubbing his hands together like a fictional villain.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Here comes another chapter! Christmas is upon us so I don´t know if I´ll be able to update during holidays, because things are always pretty crazy around here... in case I don´t, I wish you all happy holidays or merry Christmas or whatever floats your boat :3  
> Thank you for the feedback, always makes me happy <3 As usual, tell me any thoughts you have on aaaanything!
> 
> Enjoy! :3

“Look what the cat dragged in!“

A pitcher of beer landed in front of Bard with an exaggerated thud and the drink splashed right into his face. It took a great deal of dedication to slam the pitcher onto the table in that exact angle to make the beer fly in that exact direction.

Bard wiped it off with his sleeve while Thranduil instinctively pulled the scarf deeper into his face.

“I was just about to say the same thing,“ Bard said very coldly, watching Small Sam sit down a their table.

The man wasn´t completely drunk of his mind but he was getting there. His movements were still coordinated and his tongue didn´t tie itself into a knot at every word, but his eyes already had that drowsy glint.

“Skipping the town, are we?“ he grinned at Bard. “With the crown in your pocket, huh? Are you looking for someone else to make a deal with, now when you effed us over? Or have you found someone already?“

He looked at Thranduil who did his best to glare menacingly from under the scarf and smiled in a way Thranduil had always imagined sharks would smile, if they possibly ever had an opportunity or a reason to do so.

“Don´t even look or breath in his general direction, Sam,“ Bard gritted his teeth, “he has nothing to do with that or you or anything. I would prefer you to leave before you do something you´ll regret. And I don´t mean regret tomorrow or next year or on your death bed, but regret within the next second.“

“Bard,“ Thranduil whispered and slowly put his hand on his companion´s forearm, “don´t get in a fight.“

“Listen to your friend, Bard,“ Small Sam mocked him, “everybody in this pub probably likes me way better than they like you, so your chances are looking pretty slim.“

“I have no itentions of getting into a fight with you, Sam,“ Bard said calmly, “I hadn´t even intended to talk to you but here you are, splashing beer into my face, so, you know...“

He got up and started to put on his coat. “We´re leaving now. Enjoy the hangover, Sam.“

Thranduil got up too and immediately noticed the change in the air. The tavern was now completely silent and everyone was sort of staring at them. Not necessarily in a threatening manner, more in a íf they start a fight, I´ll join in“ sort of way. They didn´t really care what was it all about, they were just waiting for the opportunity to smash someone´s head with a chair.

Thranduil knew what was going to happen once they turned their backs on this Sam person and headed to the door. He pushed Bard to the side so the heavy pitcher thrown by Sam shattered on the floor in front of them and not on Bard´s nape.

Then everything just went crazy.

Thranduil had never been in a pub brawl but immediately decided he did not want to be in any other pub brawl ever again. Everything that wasn´t nailed to the floor flew through the air. The customers unintentionally formed a wall in front of the door and were beating the living hell out of each other with such joy they hadn´t even noticed. There was no particular direction in which punches were thrown. Everybody was just beating up everybody.

Bard´s hand roughly grabbed Thranduil´s wrist and pulled him out of the alcohol-infused storm and into the relative and unstable safety of the space behind the bar pult. Bard was bleeding from the nose, he had probably caught one of those poorly led punches.

“Are you alright?“ he asked, brushing a loose strand of hair away from Thranduil´s face.

“I´m fine. What is the matter with that guy?“ Thranduil frowned in Small Sam´s direction.

“He... doesn´t like me.“

“And those people?“ “They probably don´t like me either. I don´t know. I´m not popular. We need to leave.“

He shuffled around looking for something on the ground and Thranduil used the second Bard was not looking to check the bag. The crown was there, buried under clothes and necessities.

_So it really was Bard´s_.

Thranduil would definitely prefer the crown in the hands of Bard than the other man.

“Here, found it! I knew there would be one of these!“ Bard exclaimed with excitement just as a shower of someone´s unfinished stew descended on them from a bowl that smashed into the wall.

The heavily dented wooden door slammed onto the floor.

“Is that a secret door?“ Thranduil leaned over the dark entrance.

“Yes. With secret tunnels underneath. When you run a business based on a bunch of criminals hanging out, you need to have these. So your customer can run away when guards show up. There´s a lantern, can you grab that?“

Thranduil took hold of a very heavy rusty old thing that still had a pretty big peace of a fat candle in it. The wax smelled pretty foul.

Bard jumped down. A set of swears followed, since it turned out to be deeper than he had expected. Thranduil faintly saw his hands held up, ready to catch both him and the lantern. It was either that or the flying bowls and pitchers. So Thranduil jumped.

* * *

“So there _is_ a stash in the woods.“

“ _I did not say that_!“

Sigrid was beginning to fume. Maybe this was an idea exactly as bad as Bain had assumed. Her brother was not on board with going to the authorities, they even had had a pretty big fight about it. Tilda was now mad at both of them and Sigrid hadn´t seen her since she had angrily marched away to play with some girls at the fountain.

“I´m messing with you, of course you didn´t,“ Sam Redgrave grinned and got up.

“Bad timing?“ he asked upon seeing Sigrid´s face.

If looks could kill, the captain of the palace guard would be already very dead.

“My father´s missing, so, what do you think?“

“Right, sorry.“

It might have been the lack of proper sleep talking, or maybe Sam´s effort not to have any bad blood between him and Bard´s children. A really small and really well hidden part of him felt bad for arresting the man on a tip from... well, _Small Sam_. In hindsight, that had a potential to offend anyone, really.

“I´m not sure if I can help you,“ the captain said scratching his head, “this is not really my job. I´m the palace guard, you should probably go to the city watch with this.“

“I´ve considered the city watch and came to the conclusion that my neighbour´s chicken would do a better job,“ Sigrid sighed, “I don´t expect every single member of the palace guard to drop everything and go after my da, but it would be really great if at least five men did so. Please? It might not seem like it but I am in fact freaking out a bit.“

It really did not seem like it. Sigrid´s face was casual and put together, as if she was making a business deal instead of dealing with an emergency situation.

Sam smiled. “You´re a remarkable young woman, you know that, right?“

“Yeah, I know. That´s not the subject of our conversation though. Will you help me or not?“

“He will,“ a third voice joined in, “right, Sam?“

Oropher knocked on the door frame and walked in. He presented a perfect combination of a dignified royal and someone who just woke up and couldn´t be bothered to put on clothes. His heavy velvet dress robe was constantly sliding off his shoulder, but his hair was neatly braided and he even wore jewellery.

Sigrid wasn´t ready to come face to face with the king. The king was something people usually saw from a distance, a shiny silhouette or a very small figure on the palace balcony, but never face to face these days. That was just not happening. She made a curtsy and hoped no specific kinds of politeness were about to be required now.

“If you insist, Your Majesty,“ the captain replied, “and if you are completely sure of it.“

“This young lady obviously values your skills. We shouldn´t disappoint her.“ Oropher said, “plus as a king it is my duty to listen to my people´s pains and deal with them, so...“

“Excuse the lack of formalities, darling,“ he turned to Sigrid, “you have probably noticed I am not doing much of those anymore.“

“I am perfectly happy with the lack of formalities, Your Majesty, I barely know what the protocol for meeting a king is anyway,“ she admitted, “I might even hug you, if you really decide to help us. Regardless of how inappropriate that would be.“

She regretted not having Tilda with her. The girl would be thrilled to meet the king, despite doing so in this rather strange and definitely not glamorous manner. Tilda had always loved looking at pictures of beautiful princesses and queens and fairies in storybooks and Oropher was prettier than all of them combined. She would love the king´s silvery hair and gentle eyes and rings on slender fingers and all that shimmering beauty that stood out so much next to the rugged common appearance of the captain.

“Fine, the king is on your side, so I suppose I have no choice,“ the captain shrugged and Sigrid noticed the improperly familiar way in which he put his hand on Oropher´s shoulder. “One day, though. Then I am back here doing what is my _actual job_. I´ll take five men with me and some dogs, so if you have something that belongs to your father, it would really help them catch up on his scent.“

* * *

The fight slowly died out when more and more people noticed the tall dark figure at the door. Punches stayed hanging undelivered mid air, screams turned into confused wheezing and furniture hit its targets somewhat awkwardly all of a sudden.

Smaug unsticked himself from the wall. He had polished his appearance as much as possible in order to avoid scaring all those drunken idiots away immediately. He needed to talk to them first.

“Gentlemen, if I may intrude? Don´t worry, you can go back to your highly stimulating conversations in a second.“

Smaug contently oversaw the entire tavern being very interested in what he had to say.

“You,“ he pointed at a short dark haired man in the back, “come closer.“

Small Sam looked even smaller in comparison to the visitor, who seemed to posses the mysterious ability to fill the entire room with himself without visibly overstepping the boundaries of common physical attributes.

“Those men you´ve spoken to,“ Smaug bowed down so he could look right into his eyes, “who are they?“

“I´ve got some personal business going on with one, don´t know anything about the other though,“ Small Sam replied.

Something in the other man´s eyes made him. It was a pretty strong something, since Small Sam wasn´t usually that happy to share information with strangers.

“What kind of personal business, may I ask?“

“He stole my stuff,“ Small Sam scoffed, fists automatically clenching at the memory of the crown. “We had a deal and he broke it. Got me locked up. I could´ve been hanged because of that man.“

“You are angry, huh,“ Smaug smiled and Small Sam stepped back, sam as the rest of the tavern.

Some things about Smaug´s appearance just couldn´t be polished enough.

“What if I told you I have a treasure much greater than _whatever-his-name-was_ over there stole from you,“ he continued, “would you be interested in a bargain then?“

“Depends. What kind of treasure?“

Smaug straightened up and began to slowly circle the tavern. “The other man has something magical. Very powerful. Able to heal, restore youth. Just imagine how much money would anyone pay for such thing! What if an epidemic breaks out. Or a war! People would give you anything you´d ask for to get hands on such magic.“

“What is it? What does he have?“ Small Sam asked. “Stop circling around like a confused eagle and tell me!“

“It´s his _hair_ , my dear,“ Smaug said simply. “Long, soft and very very worth your while.“

“Alright, sounds... good enough,“ Small Sam nodded, “what´s the deal?“

_Hair? For real? All he needs to do is cut of someone´s braid and be rich for the rest of his life?_ Inside he was burning with excitement but he didn´t want to show any until he was positively sure this was indeed worth his while.

“Hey, okay, let me cut in here, folks,“ the bartender opened his mouth after a long half stunned half terrified silence. “I should warn you, mister. You are offering deals in a very dangerous place. You can´t tip off one guy and expect there won´t be a fight over it! Carefully consider what you say next. These boys aren´t playing.“

“Oh don´t worry! Just let me finish,“ Smaug smiled, even more brightly than before.

More backing away followed.

“The deal, my friend, is that you get to avenge yourself on the man who had caused you so much trouble and snatch something valuable while doing it, while I will just get the pleasure out of helping a fellow man get his justice.“

“So there is a _catch_ , huh,“ Small Sam frowned, “nobody ever does anything for the pleasure out of helping a fellow man. Nobody. _Ever_.“

Smaug pulled his best innocent look. “I already have everything I need and want. There isn´t any catch.“

“So.. all I have to do is get my hands on them, take everything they have to offer and you are just telling me this because you´re such a good guy, _clearly_.“

A silent nod, another big smile, more backing away. There wasn´t much space for backing away anymore.

“And you also get to pick a few friends to go along with you, just so it is fair to _everyone_ ,“ Smaug added., I can help you with that.“

“How so?“ Small Sam raised an eyebrow.

Smaug´s teeth looked suddenly somewhat bigger. “I will notably narrow the choice for you.“


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay, I managed to get one more chapter out before Christmas!   
> For real tho, I´m not sure if I get anything else out before the end of the year, so please, enjoy, tell me anything that comes to your mind in the comments, I am so happy every time I see any feedback (thank you soo so so so much), have the merriest Christmas, happiest holidays and also the most awesome new year, I´ll see you there! Kisses! <3

“Do you hear footsteps? Because I hear footsteps.“ Thranduil stopped and turned around, squinting into the pitch black nothing they were leaviing behind them.

They had been walking for quite a while and up to this point it had been a strangely peaceful walk, that is, if one looked past the huge erarthy spiders with striped legs and occasional oversized worms that popped out here and there.

“Bard, I definitely hear footsteps,“ Thranduil repeated, grabbing Bard by the sleeve.

They stood motionless for a second or two and there they really were, footsteps. Several sets of them. They sounded stressed. And they were approaching fast.

“Alright, someone is definitely running after us and given what just went down up there, that is not a good sign,“ Bard said, voice dripping with exasperation.

This was already a long day.

“We need to get out. Run,“ he added hastily.

There was nowhere to hide in a tunnel. They bolted from the spot like a couple of firecrackers. Bard had no idea how far the exit was, so running for as long as possible was the only option at the moment. Thranduil was in a really good form for someone who had spent their entire lives in a tower, fortunately, though the weight of braid was slowing him down.

They turned left and right and right and left and then right again at least five times, while the footsteps behind them remained unrelenting. The tunnel was beginning to shake, dirt was raining from the ceiling and the pillars were groaning. This was a very old construction. Made for quiet sneaky escapes. Not really a safe place to run around in, at least not anymore.

Then they hit a dead end.

“Are we close? Because they are!“ Thranduil looked over his shoulder when they stopped for a second to catch their breath. And also because of the dead end. Dead ends didn´t give one many options.

“I don´t know,“ Bard admitted. “This shouldn´t be here!“ “

You don´t _know_?!“ Thranduil wiped the sweat and dirt off his forehead. “I didn´t mean to yell, I´m sorry. But this is kind of intense.“

Bard shook his head. “It´s fine. Feel free to yell. This is a mess. I completely lost control. And this entire thing is going to bury us if we don´t get out soon. If there is a right tim to yell at me, it´s now. Because we´re stuck.“

He sat down heavily. There was no dawning realization happening, Bard was mostly just mad at himself. Everything went downhill from the day they had stolen that stupid crown.

_Why did I even do it? We had such a good thing going on, I mean, my kids steal stuff but so what, other kids do too, kids that can afford to buy it! We never did anthing really bad, anything that would ruin someone´s business and life! I´m such an idiot, oh my god..._

The footsteps were closing in.

“How much ground is above us right now?" Thranduil asked.

“What?“

“How much ground?“ Thranduil repeated looking up with an unusually stern expression.

Bard shrugged. “A few feet?“

“Fine, prepare to hold your breath and dig like crazy,“ Thranduil said and then kicked the pillar.

And kicked it again and again and again and the moment Small Sam´s voice was emerging from the darkness within their reach the rotting wood gave up.

The tunnel began to crumble. At first nothing really happened, only a handful of dirt fell down but more handfuls followed and the pillars started to break one after another in a slightly unrealistic domino effect that probably defied the laws of physics.

Thranduil stepped back and Bard very firmly grabbed his hand. This was a very unexpected move on Thranduil´s side but it was probably better than getting stabbed.

“Not sure how I feel about being buried alive,“ he said when the ceiling above them began to cumble, “don´t get turned around, otherwise you´ll dig your way into the core of the Earth.“

* * *

Sam Redgrave was confused and angry and really wanted to just go home at this point. The dogs were running around the base of the tower, barking at it aggressively, and the tower... well, the tower was there, weird, sort of pointless and just as unexplainable as before. And pulling it all together, things that Sam didn´t want to pull together because when together, they suddenly meant something more and the captain was not in a mood for things meaning _something more_.

The horses wouldn´t go near it. The dogs wanted to rip it apart, it was making their maws foam as if they all had rabies and yet that man´s scent let them right here.

“Sir, the dogs caught the track again but something is upsetting them, should we move on?“

“Yes,“ Sam gritted his teeth, “we should.“

The group was ready to go within two minutes but three of the dogs stubbornly continued attacking the tower, eyes stuck on its single window. No matter what their superviser did, they weren´t able to tear them away from the tower.

“I´ve never seen them this crazy. Is there something up there?“ Sam frowned and got down from his horse.

Even though he didn´t really want to, he asked for a grappling hook. His men stayed in their saddles, nervously eyeing the window and keeping a safe distance, while their captain hooked a rope over the windowsill and began the acent, cursing under his breath.

The dogs started to jump at the walls and scratch them. Their barking lost all sensibility at this point. Sam didn´t know dogs could scratch something so violently. Come to think of it, there were already scratches on the walls, but definitely not from a dog. These were deep and long scratches, as if something was trying to climb up. The walls of the tower were pretty damaged by the rage of nature and such, so the gashes were hard to notice from a bigger distance but up close they were pretty scary.

Something was definitely up there. And Sam was climbing right towards it. That wasn´t a good thought to have this high above the ground.

He pulled himself up on the windowsill. The room inside was torn apart and looked way darker than last time, maybe that was because of that large dark clump of something that was curled in the middle of it. It was looking at him.

The clump. It was looking at him.

Sam froze. Should he move? Maybe not. Does it have a blind spot?

_Please have a blind spot._

It absolutely did not have a blind spot. In fact, it blinked, yawned (Sam assumed it yawned, it made a movement with that part of its shape that appeared to be its head and he also saw teeth, so many teeth, oh dear) and then moved forward very quickly.

The jaws snapped inches from Sam´s face.

He screamed, surprised his vocal cords could even make such a sound. He almost fell, his hands were grabbing onto anything in sight as if they suddenly gained a mind on their own.

 _The rope. The rope, the rope the rope, where is the rope! FOUND IT_.

Sam slid down the rope so fast he burned his palms but that was not important at all at the moment, because this huge reddish black thing crawled out of that window, wrapped itself around the tower and glared down at the horsemen in a similar manner a giant snake would glare at a bunch of mice. The last few feet of Sam´s descent turned into a fall, as the creature very consciously knocked the hook of the windowsill. He landed on his back with one arm unfortunately twisted under it. The crack he heard was highly alarming.

“Sir there´s a dragon on the roof! You have to get out of there!“

“Oh _really_?! Thank you so much, I haven´t even _noticed_!“ Sam barked with the highest possible amount of sarcasm he was able to produce in such situation.

The horses weren´t having any of this. Regardless of their masters, they immediately looked to disappear in various directions. Sam watched his own horse jump through a gap between two trees, followed by the dogs that had been so eagerly barking up the tower a second ago.

That was just great. Sam grunted when he got up, Trying to keep an eye on the dragon at all times. It was looking right back at him, as if a man with a dislocated arm was the most interesting thing it had ever seen.

It got bigger. Sam was sure it did. The roof tiles were crumbling under its paws like bread. Sam did not want to turn around. He knew he was alone, every single one of his men was gone, not even by their own choice. Fighting wasn´t even an option right now.

As he turned around and ran, Sam bitterly remembered that one time he was chased by a really big dog when he was five. This was so much worse.

* * *

“I am so sorry, this was the worst idea, are you okay?!“ Thranduil gasped when Bard emerged from the ground next to him.

He gave him a thumbs up despite the fact that he was spitting out earth and was clearly very happy to be breathing again. He pulled himself up to a tree, far enough not to slide back into the hole, and took several very deep and slightly painful breaths.

“That was horrifying,“ he admitted, “lets never do that again.“

Thranduil crawled over to him, still looking pretty startled. He was mostly brown now, a few of those striped-legged spiders got accomodated in his hair and the left sleve of his tunic was ripped from the shoulder to the elbow. Bard had never seen a sleeve rip like that.

“I´m so sorry,“ Thranduil repeated and attempted to brush some of the dirt off Bard´s hair.

“Why do you keep apologizing, this was, as I said, terrifying, but also one of the most badass things I have ever seen!“

_And I did not expect you to do anything like that._

Naturally Bard did not say that part out loud but he felt really proud at the moment. More than proud, in fact. When he had watched Thranduil kick down the pillar, he had felt even a little bit _in love_. But he didn´t say that out loud either.

“Can you walk? Because there is a real chance those other people managed to get out too,“ he turned to Thranduil.

They picked themselves up, tried to shake off some of the dirt and headed in a random direction because right now every direction was random. Thranduil automatically took Bard´s hand.

“We still don´t know where we´re going, do we,“ he said in a slightly defeated tone.

“It´s going to be fine,“ Bard replied but was honestly pretty fed up with saying that.

It was the most generic thing to come out of anyone´s mouth ever and usually when people said it, nothing ever turned out fine. So it was a lie most of the time.

They kept walking. It was a while since Bard had held someone´s hand for this long and his mind slowly became preoccupied with how nice it was. Even though they had just almost died, looked like they had walked hrough a sewer and were completely lost.

Of course he hed been holding his children´s hands occasionally but that was different. Holding your child´s hand was basically an obligation if one didn´t want their kid to grow up into an emotionally crippled individual with severe issues regarding touch starvation and such.

But holding hands with another adult was something else. Bard had always considered it more intimate than.. well, anything else. It was a special gesture suitable for any occasion and never losing its meaning. A constant reminder that there is another person that _cares_.

There was this small yet persistent urge to constantly look in Thranduil´s direction that Bard refused to fight after a while. He decided he really like Thranduil´s nose. It was a bit up, kind of posh and legitimately adorable. Bard was positive this was the absolute first time he had considered another man´s nose adorable. There were attractive men in the city with nice noses but Thranduil was just on a whole other level. Not only in regards to his nose. It was also the big blue eyes and amazing eyebrows and the combination of the childlike sense of wonder and this newly discovered tougher side that was his personality...

Then Bard walked into a tree.

* * *

“Your horse arrived three hours before you! And he hasn´t stopped freaking out yet! What the _bloody hell_ happened?!“

Oropher never swore. _Never_. That was a thing that just never happened. But now it kind of suited the situation, the king looked distraught to say the least.

Captain Redgrave sighed deeply for approximately a milionth time in the last several hours. He was exhausted. After being ditched he had been ditched some more (however he refused to blame his soldiers for not waiting around with a dragon on their heels) and after hiding for an obscene amount of time, waiting for the giant winged shadow to stop quietly circling above his head he had to walk all the way to the city on his own.

Not to mention his shoulder that was still very much dislocated. So besides irrationaly feeling like the world´s biggest coward, Sam was also in pain. Mixed with anger. It was exhausting only to sustain all of those feelings at once.

“There´s a dragon in the forest, did you know?“ he said casually. “Because I sure didn´t. Could you pop my arm back, I don´t think I can do that myself, it hurts like a son of a...“

“Sure, sure, I´m on it. Did you say a dragon?“

Oropher heard his voice jump an octave. He couldn´t decide what was stressing him out more at the moment, Sam´s shoulder or the dragon.

“I _did_ say a dragon. We haven´t had one of these in how long, thirty years? Unbelievable. We should probably tell the kids that- AAAAAAAAHHHH!“

Oropher jumped away startled. “Sorry! I´m so sorry, I should´ve told you I was going to... maybe don´t tell me there´s dragon in the forest before you want me to do something like this, my hands are shaking?!“

“It´s fine, it´s fine, it would have hurt still the same, trust me,“ Sam mumbled, rubbing the fixed shoulder, “come here, I´m okay.“

Oropher buried his face into Sam´s dirty shirt. “I was so worried when the horse showed up without you.“

He looked up after a while, gave Sam a quick kiss and added very seriously: “We have to do something about that dragon though.“

“We do,“ Sam nodded, “I don´t know what yet, because it was big and really scary and if I remember dragons correctly, which I don´t, this one was... weird.“

“Weird, what do you mean weird?“ Oropher frowned.

“It was... I think it was smart? Dragons aren´t usually smart, are they?“ Sam wasn´t sure how to phrase it.

He certainly didn´t know enough about dragons to know how smart they were, but he _did_ knew enough about dragons to recognize that this one was above their average intellect.

“It was in that tower we found last time,“ he continued absentmindedly, “and I think it could change its size. And it knocked the hook off the window while I was still on the rope!“

“Wait, wait, wait... it was in the tower? The tower that gave me nightmares because everything in it seemed... familiar? The tower with the _lavender under the pillows_?“

Oropher´s fingers clenched around Sam´s wrist. Sam watched the king´s relatively relaxed expresion disintegrate when he nodded.

“And it was red and black and when it looked at you you thought its eyes were sort of human but not quite and you had this really bad feeling inside as if it was pulling out your insides out with its gaze?“

Sam raised his eyebrows in confusion. “I... I don´t know, we really didn´t make that much eye contact... Oropher, you´re breaking my wrist, are you alright?“

The king´s eyes trailed off into nothing behind the captain´s back.

“Sam, that was _him_.“


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magically, once I say I won´t be doing something, I´ll always end up doing something, so here´s another chapter! I´ve been struck with a sudden inspiration (it´s wine).  
> Thank you for the feedback, it means the world and makes me enjoy writing this even more! So don´t hesitate to tell me anything you want in the comments! I hope you´ll enjoy the chapter and also please have the most amazing Christmas day! <3

“Bad idea. Very bad. The worst. Oropher, are you listening to me?! _Bad idea_!“

Sam had spent the last twenty minutes running around the king who had been paying exactly zero attention to him, and trying to explain how facing an angry dragon on his own was not a good solution in any situation, especially not in a situation that actually involved an angry dragon.

He wanted to slap him. He truly did. Because it seemed like the only thing that could maybe tear Oropher out of this bizzare state of mind he had slipped into shortly after their not very pleasant conversation had ended.

Since slapping was out of the question for approximately gazillion reasons, Sam went for the next option which promised just as much shock value. He grabbed the king by the shoulders and kissed him as angrily as he managed. And dared. He stubbornly avoided the word ´violently´ in his mind. He wasn´t trying to be violent, he was trying to _help_.

Oropher fought back, metaphorically speaking, and Sam was losing when he was finally pushed away. This was not only the most intense kiss of his life, this was downright one of the most intense _experiences_ of his life and coming from a soldier, that was a lot.

Oropher was panting as if he had just run a marathon.

“What?!“ he screamed.

There were tears running down his cheeks. Sam hadn´t noticed those before.

“Just... can you stop for a second? Please,“ he said and heard his voice break, “you´re losing your mind, you can´t even pick up a sword in this condition, safe for actually wielding it!“

Oropher´s expression turned to an enraged one, which was not something the captain expected right now.

“How can you stand here and even _attempt_ to stop me?! That´s _him_ , Sam! The beast that took my _child_!“

“We don´t know that! It really could be any other dragon...“

Sam barely bothered to finish the sentence. Said outloud it sounded even lamer than in his head.

A different strategy was needed.

“You promised I won´t have to see you suffer again,“ he said quietly, “I really hoped we were... developing into something that was... I though maybe I was worthy of you keeping your promises now.“

A dead silence fell between them while Oropher stared at him looking hurt and petrified.

“If I was mistaken, now is the time to tell me,“ Sam added, “I still know my place.“

_Of course I do. Never, not in a million years I´ll be as important to Oropher as Thranduil was. It doesn´t matter if that boy is dead. I can´t fix that hole. I´m not enough._

Oropher wiped off the tears, suddenly unable to sustain eye contact.

“You weren´t,“ he replied, “and I _will_ keep my promise, Sam. But I can´t let this go. There were hints and maybes and what-ifs and now the world is shoving it in my face, a chance for closure, and _I cannot let this go_.“

Sam´s grip on the king´s shoulders tightened.

“Fine but let´s do it differently! Properly! With preparation! So we have ast least _some_ chance of getting revenge before he´ll eat us.“

* * *

“We found a river. That could be called a progress, right?“

Thranduil tried his best to sound cheerful and supportive because Bard looked like he had given up on everything when the lazy stream appeared in front of them.

“Definitely. Now we know exactly how far we are from civilization!“ he exclaimed with a dose of passive aggressive joy. “Really bloody far!“

It was possible to see the river from the ramparts. From their highest point. Just as thin string glistening in the distance.

“Think of it as a stable orientation point,“ Thranduil suggested, “and a good place to stop for today. We can wash up, catch a fish, have dinner...“

“Let´s do that,“ Bard nodded, “I´ve run out of ideas for today. And the sun is going down, we don´t need to get more lost than we already are.“

They gathered wood and settled under a hollow tree that was hunching over the shallows and Bard lit a fire. Not right away, that would be way too convenient. It took almost fifteen minutes to make a spark strong enough and Thranduil learned several new curse words.

Then they instinctively separated and each went to a different side of the shallows to wash off the dirt. Thranduil had never undressed in front of anyone before and Bard didn´t want to make him uncomfortable. The river was cold but watching the mud and earth and spider float away was great. Bard felt like he just lost ten pounds just by washing his hair. A few fish swam by, sliding by his ankles,one got tangled in his shirt that was almost carried away by the stream. Too bad for the fish because now it was dinner.

Satisfied with the improvised personal hygiene, Bard wrapped himself in a blanket and went on to sharpen a stick to catch some more fish with.

The daylight was fading fast while the uncomplete pearl of a moon was getting stronger. Bard knew what was coming and very carefully turned his gaze to Thranduil. He was standing waist deep in the water with hair spilled all around him. When the first ray of moonlight hit him, it was exactly as incredible as Bard had anticipated.

The whole water surface began to glow and Thranduil turned into a mermaid-like vision emerging from the depths. Bard caught himself plainly staring at this point because it was impossible to look away.

_This is it, this is the most beautiful thing I´ve ever seen._

Thranduil noticed him looking and, contrary to Bard´s expectations, didn´t flinch but waved at him. Bard´s heart jumped so high he had to clutch his chest. There it was again. And surrounded by magic and moonlight and, oh, also fireflies, it felt like a dream. Way too beautiful to be real.

“Could you bring me my bag?“ Thranduil called from the river. “I have some clean clothes in there.“

Bard shook his head to return himself to reality. “Sure, give me a second, I´m going to put something on.“

His own clothes were hanging over the fire for a while now and were wonderfully warm. Bard rolled up the legs of his pants before he walked into the shallows because he would certainly prefer them to stay warm for a while. Or at least dry.

“Here,“ he handed the bag to Thranduil.

Up close Thranduil looked even _less real_ than from the shore. It was probably the light reflecting in his irises. Yes, it was definitely the light.

“Are you alright? You kind of zoned out there,“ Thranduil raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, sorry. I just...“ Bard had to pause and think twice about his choice of words, “... I can´t really stop looking at you. That came out way creepier than I intended. I mean, your hair is glowing and the water is glowing and you´re really beautiful and this looks really magical and I´ve never seen anything like that in my entire life...“

“You think I´m _beautiful_?“

Thranduil said it as if it were the least comprehensible thing in the universe. His eyes actually widened at the thought of such concept. It caught Bard off guard.

“Umm... yes?“ he said and would love to immediately kick himself for phrasing it like a question. “Yes. I do. Because you are. It´s pretty obvious, actually.“

Thranduil felt his cheeks burning with red despite standing in the cold water. He wasn´t complimented enough to know how to deal with it properly.

“Thank you,“ he replied quietly, biting his lip and desperately trying to think of something else to say.

Bard laughed nervously. “You´re welcome!“

_What is wrong with you?! You don´t say ´you´re welcome´ in a situation like this, now you sound like a pretentious moron, good lord, just shut up and LEAVE!_

“I´ll start on the fish,“ he added and quickly walked away before he would say anything else that would classify as utterly embarassing in his mind.

_You´re welcome?! Really?!_

Thranduil quickly dressed. The crown in the bag was a prickly return to reality after that strange moment he had just went through. He was very careful to keep it hidden. This was not the right moment to bring that up. There was clearly a mood being created, by them, by the suroundings and Thranduil didn´t want to spoil it.

Bard apparently knew how to cook a fish because it smelled amazing. Thranduil sat down by the fire, still shaking the water out of his hair. After a while Bard handed him a fish on a stick.

“Watch out for the bones, there´s going to be a lot of them. And I can take the eyes out, if you mind it looking at you.“

Thranduil frowned at the fish. It looked confused.

“Eh, I think I can deal with it looking at me,“ he shrugged.

They ate mostly in silence in order not to choke on a bone but it was a very comfortable silence. Homely, pleasant silence that made Bard think of his children and Thranduil wonder why it had never been like that when eating with Smaug. Fortunately the fish wasn´t big enough for them to succumb to sadness before they finished eating.

“I feel so good right now I almost forgot we are in trouble,“ Thranduil admitted when they lied down by the fire.

“Agreed,“ Bard yawned, “this is one of those moments where I kind of believe that everything is going to be alright, even though there´s bad guys after us, I´m probably among the most wanted people in the kingdom and your dad is a horrifying warlock-dragon-creature.“

Thranduil laughed.

“I´m having a good time, Bard,“ he said, “really. Up to now I just read about adventures like this and now I´m sleeping by the fire, eating fish fresh from the river,, running from bad guys... I´m having a good time.“

“Silver lining,“ Bard smiled.

Thranduil raised on his elbow and leaned over him and for a very brief moment Bard thought he was going to kiss him. Instead Thranduil reached for his shoulder and pulled away the shirt.

“That´s a pretty deep scratch, Bard, how long have you had this?“ he frowned upon revelaing the dark red gash in Bard´s flesh.

“I honestly don´t know,“ Bard shrugged, “I think it´s from our _daring escape_ from the tunnel. A piece of wood went through, maybe? It wasn´t even bleeding that much...“

“This looks like something that could get easily infected. Let me try something.“

Thranduil separated a lock of hair and wrapped it around Bard´s shoulder.

“I am not entirely sure how this works,“ he admitted, “but if my hair can make people younger, it can probably fix a scratch.“

Bard felt the warmth coming from the hair, seeping into his wound and was suddenly very relaxed. He watched the bruises on his knuckles disappear, the skin on his hand tighten and slighly bitterly realised that despite being in wonderful health and far from old or even aging, he was certainly not that young anymore. Or maybe his hands were just really worked down. It really could´ve been either of those things.

Thranduil removed the hair after a while and a relieved smile spread on his face. There was no trace of the gash whatsoever.

“It worked!“ he exclaimed proudly.

“It´s a bit freaky, to be completely honest with you,“ Bard admitted, “but I love it.“

“You´re _welcome_ ,“ Thranduil winked at him and return to his improvised bed while Bard was drowning in all the red that flooded his face.

* * *

Smaug made a grimace. This was so sweet all of his teeth threatened to immediately develop cavities and that was something, because Smaug had a lot of teeth.

Their camp, if one could even call it a camp, was set up by the river and they were both sound asleep. Smaug leaned above the dark-haired man and growled quietly. An absolute nobody, exactly as he had presumed. Thranduil´s fingers were dangerously close to this man´s hand, which was just a big, very big no in Smaug´s book. His treasure was not to be touched by someone so low and dirty.

At the same time, his treasure clearly wasn´t getting the lesson Smaug had intended to give him because someone had failed miserably.

How do people survive as a species, if they can be stopped by dumping a load of dirt on them?

Smaug moved on to the little baggage they had. It was all Thranduil´s, things that were missing from the tower – some clothes, a book, crumbles from the food, the crown... THE CROWN?!!

Smaug stared at the thing for good five seconds before he ful realized what he was looking at and in sudden stroke of panic threw it as far away as possible.

It landed in the river with a very quiet and ordinary ´clank´.

Smaug turned to the stranger. So this was the _stuff_ that annoying short man had been reffering to.

Questions were popping into Smaug´s head one after another. Did the man know? If so, how much did he know? But he didn´t look like someone sent by the palace. Was he really just a thief? Probably.

But the crown was among Thranduil´s things...

Smaug began to loose control over his physical form, patches of scales started to appear on random parts of his body. He needed to calm down. And resolve the situation. Get some answers and still make it an _educational experience_ for Thranduil.

He angrily marched into the river, water boiling around his legs, and fished out the crown. He felt a bit silly for throwing it. It was just a piece of jewellery. He still hid it in his cloak because it was making him extremely uncomfortable.

Waking Thranduil up was easy. Smaug just snapped his fingers and something simply crawled into the young man´s dream and jerked him awake. Thranduil had no idea why he was breathing heavily or why his heart threatened to burst through the ribcage at first but the unmistakable silhouette of his father was all the answers he needed.

“Hello, son.“

“Father. How did you find me?“ Thranduil was content with his attemp at sounding as confident as possible.

That, however, didn´t mean he wasn´t frozen to the ground.

“Every idiot can follow tracks, my dear,“ Smaug said, “it´s not really that hard.“

“I´m not coming home with you. Ever,“ Thranduil replied, digging his fingers into the ground. “You lied to me. Turned me into a prisoner, just because of my _hair_. The world isn´t as bad as you made it out to be and you can´t stop me from seeing it.“

“You know I can,“ Smaug scoffed, “but I won´t. Have your little adventure, you´ll run back to me on your own sooner or later. Because you chose to trust a complete stranger over me, your father, and that just cannot end well. By the way, did your new friend give you this?“

He casually twirled the crown around his finger.

“Not really, it´s... it´s a long story,“Thranduil replied, frowning.

“He stole it, am I right?“ Smaug raised an eyebrow.

“What does it matter?!“

Thranduil watched his father slowly approach and threw a quick glance at Bard. The conversation seemed to have zero effect on the quality of his sleep. It was probably a spell, which made Thranduil´s stomach turn.

“And he _knows_ you have it,“ Smaug stated simply, following Thranduil´s look.

“Not really,“ Thranduil admitted, “but again, what does it matter? Nothing you´ll say can possibly persuade me to go back into that tower.“

Smaug gave him a smile. “I think he _does_. Maybe he found out just this afternoon and was planning to take it during the night and leave you here. Because that is all he´s after. The crown.“

“You don´t know anything about him,“ Thranduil hissed, “he wouldn´t do that. I can give him the crown right now and he would still stay with me. He _likes me_.“

“You know him so well after those few days you´ve spent in his company?“ Smaug made the most disapproving grimace imaginable. “Fine. Be my guest, treasure. But remember, father knows best. At the end of this, there is me saying ´I told you so.´I won´t be proud of it but I will say it nevertheless.“

He tossed the crown into Thranduil´s lap, turned on his heel and walked away. Moments later Thranduil saw a big winged shadow flying away from the scene.

Thranduil shoved the crown back into the bag and slumped back onto his blanket. The rest of his night was sleepless.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two papers to write, a presentation to make and I promised to deliver the introduction chapter f my master thesis to my supervisor by the end of the year.  
> So naturally, there´s another chapter.  
> I hope you guys had a great Christmas! Thank you for the feedback, please do keep it coming, it warms my heart every time <3 I hope you´ll enjoy this one. There´s a bit of a time jump to speed things alone, just a heads up, because I´m not sure it´s really noticeable, I´m bad at writing time jumps...

Tilda crawled under Sigrid´s blanket. She could tell from the older girl´s breathing she was not asleep. While Bain, being the laid back young man he was, drifted away into the land of dreams without any visible worry, Sigrid kept turning and sighing.

“Is da going to be okay?“ Tilda whispered when she got comfortable.

“I don´t know,“ Sigrid admitted, “I really don´t.“

“I think he is but still... it would be better to know for sure,“ Tilda said quietly, snuggling up to her. “I know da´s a hero and all, but it _really_ would be better to know for sure.“

Sigrid shifted her position so she could look at her sister. “Do you think da´s a hero?“

“Yeah, I do.“

“Even though he steals?“

Tilda frowned. “Heroes don´t have to be always super good, do they? I mean, there´s plenty of jerks out there who never stole anything but they´re still jerks and bad people.“

“Okay, that´s true but don´t say ´jerks´.“

“Sorry. But da is definitely good people, even though he steals. So he can be a hero,“ Tilda concluded.

“Whatever. I just want them to be alright and at home,“ Sigrid mumbled.

She couldn´t care less whether her father was a hero or not. Tilda was a child after all, all those romantic ideas from fairytales still stuck with her but Sigrid was quite over it, to be frank. She was still in her teens but had worries that should belong to a much older woman. Putting food on the table. Maintaining the house. Caring for her little sister. _Replacing a mother_.

So who cared if da was a hero, as long as he was at least _there_ and, as Tilda said, _good people_. That was all she asked from him. He always delievered, except for situations like this. Situations like this pushed Sigrid to the limit and made her wanted to drop everything and walk away.

_Don´t be mad at him, what if he´s dead?!_

“Are you alright, Sigrid? Your heart is beating way too much,“ Tilda whispered.

She was huddled against her sister´s chest so she could immediately tell when Sigrid made herself upset by her own thoughts.

“I´m worried so you don´t have to be. Go to sleep already,“ Sigrid replied and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Tilda yawned and followed the instructions. Sigrid stayed up until four, listening the her sibling´s breath and staring into the wall.

* * *

Bard could immediately tell something was wrong with Thranduil but Thranduil himself dismissed all question with a wave of the hand.

“I didn´t sleep well,“ he said, “I don´t know why, it was surprisingly comfortable, really, but I just didn´t. Don´t worry about it.“

They settled on following the river in the direction opposite to its flow so they would get at least within the sight shot of the city. Then, if they were to be lucky, maybe a merchant would pass by and pick them up. If not, it presented several more days of walking but at least there were some lonely settlements along the way, so they hopefully wouldn´t starve.

It seemed like a really solid plan, however physically challenging it sounded. Bard was content with it and Thranduil was really down for whatever at this point.

Bard was amazed at how comfortable he was in the woods. One just wouldn´t expect that someone, who had spent their entire life in a confining yet comfortable environment, would deal with sleeping ont he ground and drinking from a river without a single word of complaint.

They picked up a ton of berries from every single bush they found and took off. The proximity of river was a big advantage, they didn´t have to worry about water. And it was pleasant to listen to the sound of water.

“The song day is coming up,“ Bard suddenly remembered when they stopped for a break, “I´m not sure we can make it though.“

“To be completely honest, I´ve forgotten all about the song day,“ Thranduil admitted.

His lips were dark purple from the berries. Bard gestured around his own mouth to let him know but when Thranduil attempted to wipe it off, it just smeared into a bit horrifying smile. Bard moved closer, dipped his sleeve into the water and proceeded to clean the blueberry tint himself.

“It was always something to look forward to, when I was in the tower,“ Thranduil continued unphased, letting Bard turn his face this way or the other, “but now when I´m out and so much exciting stuff is happening, I suppose I don´t need the song day anymore. It´s fine if we don´t make it. Is it all off? I´m sorry, I´m such a klutz.“

“You´re not a klutz, blueberries are messy,“ Bard smiled, “you have no idea how many times I have done this because my children can´t even eat stupid porridge without getting it everywhere. Tilda once had some on her back, I don´t understand how it got there.“

Thranduil chuckled. Bard´s concentrated father expression was adorable. It was slightly annoyed and yet full of love. Which probably summed up the whole deal of being a father pretty well. Smaug had never had that expression.

Of course he hadn´t. His way of expressing love was mostly through soup, now when Thranduil thought about it.

“Done,“ Bard said and interrupted his fall into the pit of starvation for affection and father issues.

“Thank you,“ Thranduil smiled, “in return I´d like to tell you there´s a grasshopper in your hair.“

“ _What?!!_ Ew, gross! Get it off!“

Realizing how unexpected such a reaction was, Bard felt compelled to explain himself.

“I really hate those bastards,“ he said, “since I was little, I just can´t stand them.“

“Good,“ Thranduil nodded, “I was beginning to think you are not afraid of anything.“

“I´m not _afraid_ of them, I just think they´re disgusting!“ Bard opposed immediately.

“Sure, whatever you say,“ Thranduil grinned as he got up and walked over to his things.

“ _I´m not afraid of grasshoppers!_ “

* * *

“It´s been days since I asked you! You have to have _something_ for me!“

Captain Redgrave groaned. Sigrid stood in front of his desk with arms crossed, the younger child was peeking from behind her and neither of them looked like they intended to leave without an answer. _Any_ answer.

“We haven´t found your father,“ he admitted, “that is, yet. Something bigger came up and we have to deal with that first. If your dad´s alive, it is in his best interest too.“

“Fine,“ Sigrid sighed, “that´s okay. I´m just a bit mad because you could´ve come to our house and tell us, or at least let me in when I was here yesterday!“

“As I said, bigger things,“ Redgrave frowned, “much bigger. More dangerous. Priorities, you know?“

“How big are these things?“ Tilda asked.

The captain couldn´t tell if it was an innocent curious question or a passive aggressive jab at him. Tilda was very young but she was Bard´s. That alone presented a risk.

“They are big. And dangerous,“ he replied, secretly wishing they would leave already. “And they will bite us in the ass if we don´t take care of them.“

“Is it a dog?“ Tilda inquired further.

_Huh, so it was just a curiosity._

Sam rubbed his temples. “No, it´s not a dog, it´s way bigger than a dog. Look, I really need to get back to work, so, if you could let yourselves out...“

Tilda´s eyes widened with excitement and she pulled herself up on the table. “Is it a _dragon_?!“

“Don´t be silly, Tilda,“ Sigrid scoffed, “come on, let´s...“

“Actually, yes, it is a dragon,“ Redgrave said in a dead serious tone, “a big scaly dragon with a maw full of teeth. It´s sitting in the forest like it owns it. Happy?“

“Wow,“ Tilda exclaimed.

She clearly _was_ happy.

“Oh come on, the only dragons that come around these days are in stories,“ Sigrid laughed but froze when she saw Redgrave´s expression. “Wait, are you serious?“

“It was _this_ close to my face, so yes, I´m pretty serious,“ Sam nodded, “and I know what you´re thinking. It didn´t eat your father, don´t worry. Our dogs caught his scent leading away from it. Unfortunately then we had to run.“

Sigrid looked like she had just been struck by a lightning and the captain understood completely. Dragons really were considered the stuff of fairytales and information like this was logically difficult to process. He could imagine the catastrophic scenarios being born in her mind right now.

“I´m sorry if I scared you,“ he said, “there´s nothing to worry about yet, so... you know, don´t worry. We can handle this.“

“Right,“ Sigrid nodded, collecting herself, “I believe you, captain. We´ll go now. If you need anything a bunch of kids could handle, let us know.“

“Yeah! We´ll help!“ Tilda exclaimed with an admirable dose of determination.

“I wish I had better news,“ captain Redgrave bowed his head, “you´re good kids. Take care.“

The girls left and he felt utterly miserable for some reason. Actually, it wasn´t just some reason. It was those children. Sam Redgrave watched them grow up on the streets and become this hard little diamonds that shattered every bad thing that hit them. There still was a possibility Bard was actually dead. That would be a hit they could never survive.

* * *

“Do your kids really like me?“ Thranduil asked into an especially long moment of silence.

The weather was a picture of gloom since morning today and so was the mood. It was difficult to wake up in disgustingly damp blankets and be happy about it. Feeling each other´s exhaustion and general unwillingness to make small talk, they mostly walked in silence.

“What kind of question is that?“ Bard raised his eyebrows. “I was just wondering,“ Thranduil shrugged, “they don´t know me at all in comparison to you. What if they decide they don´t want a stranger living in their house after all?“

“I´m going to presume this is the weather talking because my kids loved you,“ Bard replied, “or at least didn´t hate you. Tilda was thrilled by the very sight of you, Sigrid definitely doesn´t mind, she´ll be happy to have someone to watch the house or Tilda when she´s running errands and Bain... well, Bain was a bit sceptical but more about the overall state of things than you specifically, so, as I said, you don´t have to worry.“

“That was a long sentence.“

Bard laughed. “Yes, it was. I´m actually winded from saying all that.“

“Still,“ Thranduil said, “I´m having troubles imagining I´ll just waltz into their lives and everything will be fine.“

_It certainly won´t be, as long as my father is around._

“Why not? You waltzed into mine,“ Bard shrugged

“And look how that turned out!“ Thranduil gestured around. “And for the record, I didn´t waltz into your life, you climbed into mine.“

_And I´m incredibly happy you did._

The silence that was filling out most of their journey today gave Thranduil a lot of time to delve deep into his own thoughts. There was a lot of them and his concern about Bard´s children was just one of them. There were others that bugged him.

Like why did his stomach feel funny every time he looked at Bard. Or why had he spent two hours thinking about Bard´s eyes yesterday. Why did he trust Bard so much, literally with his life?

Why didn´t he give him the crown even though he was so sure of Bard´s character?

There was a lot going on in Thranduil´s head. A slightly lazier bee hive would a be a good comparison. He didn´t know whether to wonder if he liked Bard or if Bard liked him. Because Bard acted like he liked him.

_Fancied_ him, to be exact. Thranduil didn´t know for sure how people acted when they fancied other people but he had read enough books to know there were signs.

Then again, maybe these signs he was now seeing weren´t signs at all.

_But I do want them to be signs. I really do._

Thranduil caught himself staring at Bard´s nape. He liked the way ard´s hair curled there. It looked fluffy and soft and covered a small red scar in a shape of a comet. Thranduil was sure there was a lot scars on Bard´s body but this one was kind of cute. He should ask Bard about it sometimes.

Bard stopped so suddenly Thranduil almost tripped over his own legs trying to avoid him.

“What? Do you see something?“ he asked, immediately thinking of Smaug.

Bard shook his head. “No, I just remembered the most random thing. Nevermind that, we can keep walking. Unless you want to take a break, of course.“

Thranduil wanted to take a break but he also didn´t want to be in the woods anymore.

“Let´s keep walking,“ he said. “What did you remember?“

Bard scratched his head and sped up to catch up with him. “You see, Sigrid tells stories sometimes. Bed time stories. Recently she told us one about a baby boy that was born from a magical golden vein or something and had glowing hair because of it. I can´t remember if it could heal people like yours can, but what are the odds? Maybe there´s more people like you. If there´s a story about one, there could be, don´t you think? “

“On one hand, that would be amazing. I wouldn´t feel like a freak,“ Thranduil nodded, “on the other hand, I doubt that, because if they were, my father would know about them. He always treated me like I was one of a kind.“

“First of all,“ Bard turned to him, “you´re not a freak. Second of all... actually, I don´t have an argument against your father, he´s a warlock, you´re right, if there were others, he´d definitely know about them. Unless they hid themselves very well.“

_He would know about them so he could round them up and use their hair to make himself immortal or something. If he isn´t immortal already. Oh god, I really hope he isn´t immortal._

“Tell me more about the story,“ Thranduil demanded, sliding his arm under Bard´s, “today is so unbelievably boring and depressing and everything´s wet...“

Bard couldn´t agree more, he had been swallowing words like ´depressing´, ´glum´ or even ´wet´ since the morning.

“It´s based on a piece of our history, in fact,“ he said, “quite a recent one and quite a sad one. See, the boy with the glowing hair is the son of our... king... and he was... taken by a... warlock...“

Bard stopped and looked straight at Thranduil.

“Thranduil, how old are you?“ he asked.

“I´m not sure, twenty-something?“ Thranduil shrugged. “My father insisted I was eighteen but I don´t think I´m that young...why does it matter?“

“Could you be... twenty-eight?“

“Maybe? Bard, is something wrong?“ Thranduil grew more confused every second.

Bard kept looking at him in the strangest way while seemingly being swept by some horrible realization. But at then end, he shook his head.

“No. Things like this don´t happen in real life. It´s just a bunch of crazy coincidences and I´m grasping at straws, subconsciously trying to make this day somehow pass faster. Just... ignore me.“

_It´s a fairytale. At least two thirds of it are made up. A story for kids. The prince is most likely dead by now, however sad that is._

_Also, the prince probably wasn´t born of magic in the first place. Oropher is way too proud to ever ask for help from the Underground kingdom, their truce is way too fragile._

_Even if it weren´t, the king of Underground would never give up something magical in Oropher´s favour. Just not happening._

_The bottom line is, Thranduil can´t be the lost prince._

_Doesn´t make a lick of sense._

_Glad I cleared that up for myself._


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> How´s the new year treating you so far? I hope it´s properly happy?  
> I thionk this is going to end on 25 chapters and I would really like it done before the start of the summer semester. I hope you´ll enjoy this one :3
> 
> Lemme know what you think, I live and breathe feedback! <3

It wasn´t long before there were several tiny Bards in the regular sized Bard´s mind, arguing, yelling and robbing him of his sleep. Bard hated it, Why did he have to remember that dumb story? Now there´s was a whole bunch of bees in his bonnet because of it.

Every time he looked at Thranduil more and more questions popped up. He was even trying to recall what Oropher looked like, to see if there was any resemblance. He couldn´t tell if the face he saw in his memory was really the face of the king or just something fabricated by his brain while trying to make more connections.

Moreover, things went way too smoothly. No _father_ in sight. No Small Sam and his new friends. Could they be dead? That wasn´t likely, Bard had never been that lucky when it came to these things. He kept looking over his shoulder so much it began to irritate Thranduil.

“Do you _miss_ being in danger?“ he asked frowning when at one point Bard had almost resorted to walking backwards just to see behind them. “There´s nothing in there! Except maybe squirrels.“

“I can´t shake the edge off, I´m sorry!“ Bard defended himself poorly. “My head is messing with me.“

Thranduil bit his lip, concealing worries he had on his own. He accidentaly touched the crown every single time he reached into his bag for something and every time Smaug voice rang in his ears.

“Do you want to talk about it?“ he said instead of revealing any of that.

There was going to be time for everything.

“Since I told you about that story, I can´t stop digging around in it,“ Bard admitted, “way too many things add up.“

“Oh, that,“ Thranduil laughed shortly, “don´t worry. I think I´d knew it if I were a royal. Those are things you don´t forget.“

_The reflections. What about those, hm?_

“The boy in the story was taken very young. I´m pretty sure it´s possible to forget you are royalty when you´re like... one,“ Bard replied.

“Shush!“ Thranduil ordered. “You´ll make me paranoid too!“

They were on the border of the forest now. Bard could see the river curving into a large flat piece of land covered in grass field and corn fields and other kinds of fields, and it felt a bit like coming out of a cave. They had the canopy of leaves above their heads for so long he had almost forgotten what the sky looked like when not in fragments.

* * *

Small Sam was currently doing something he had never thought he would do – questioning his life choices. There were not apparent signs of dissatisfaction in Smaug´s face, yet something was crushing the short man in its fist anyways.

“Does it still hurt?“ Smaug asked and leaned closer to examine the deep purple bruise on one side of Small Sam´s face.

“Yes and it´s going to, for at least two weeks,“ Small Sam muttered even though he knew his answer was not wanted or needed, “but I am still good to go. I´ll catch up with them.“

_Alone._ Because one is dead and the other one probably will be soon. There was a lot of blood around him.

Smaug seemingly didn´t pay any attention to him whatsoever, he was studying his nails instead.

“You _can´t_ catch up with them. It has been five days since I saw them near the river. There was rain. The tracks are gone. But don´t worry. I have done the thinking for you. Once again.“

“Yeah? And how many catches are there, hm? Do I have to sell you my soul or something?“ Small Sam scoffed.

Smaug made a grimace. “Eh, who would want _that_. Just listen. They are heading for the city. And they will get there, I´ll see to it. Your task is very simple – get there before them, alarm the authorities and wait for them at the gate. They carry the crown. That is enough to get your friend arrested, isn´t it?“

“It´s enough to get them both arrested,“ Small Sam frowned, “how am I supposed to get that magical hair, if the other one rots in jail as well?!“

“Patience, you insufferable little....“ Smaug hissed, “I´ll bring you the other one, Breaking him out of jail is something I could do with my pinkie. In my sleep.“

“I still don´t believe that you´re doing this just for the kicks,“ Small Sam gritted his teeth, “and I don´t care how scary you think you are, I´m telling you right now, if you try to fuck me over, it will end badly.“

He did, in fact cared how scary maug thought he was, because he was indeed very scary and even though Small Sam would deny it with all his strength, every nerve in his body was squirming whenever Smaug was around. Small Sam was scared out of his wits.

“Are you threatening me?“ Smaug raised an eyebrow. “Aw. That is just _cute_.“

Then he moved very quickly and Small Sam found himself shoved against the wall a good bunch of feet above ground.

“Mind your own business,“ the warlock hissed, “and mind your own motives. Or I´ll squish you like a cockroach.“

* * *

“We´re ready, Your Majesty. We can ride tomorrow at dawn.“

Oropher looked up from his hands. He hadn´t slept for more that three hours in the last several day combined. He had been rejecting everyone´s company, including Sam´s. As if he was actually enjoying his suffering.

_I need to keep my anger, I need to keep my pain, without that I am but a man with a sword_ , he kept saying. _With it I am a father._

It was scaring Sam Redgrave to death.

“Great. We will then,“ Oropher said.

And that was all he said. Sam looked around and then closed the door behind himself.

“Oropher, talk to me.“

The king slid down from the windowsill. He had been sitting there for a while and his left leg sort of gave up, so when he tried to walk, he tottered and fell into the always ready arms of the captain.

“Sorry,“ he mumbled, quickly putting himself together, “I need to get some blood flowing.“

“How are you feeling?“ Sam asked, gently pushing a strand of hair away from Oropher´s face. “I would really appreciate some input on that because I´ve ben dying of worry these past few days. Talk to me.“

“Things just escalated way too quickly at the exact time I was ready to start anew,“ Oropher sighed, pressing his forehead against the padding on Sam´s shoulder, “a piece of jewellery gets stolen and al of a sudden we´re fighting a dragon. It´s like all the chances of letting go I ever had were just an illusion. I really thought I could do it this time.“

“Maybe this closure just isn´t free,“ Sam replied.

“What´s the price then?“ Oropher looked at him almost angrily. “Me? You? Us?“

“Don´t even begin,“ Sam pressed his index finger against Oropher´s lips, “we´ll go there, we´ll chop that bastard´s ugly head off and that is going to be it. The head of a dragon is more than enough of a price.“

_As if that is going to be so easy._

“Sam, there might not be many other opportunities to say this, so...“ Oropher took a deep breath and his eyes took an expression the captain had never seen before, “I´m just going to say it.“

A split second of silence followed before he delivered the blow.

“I love you.“

A correct way to react to these kinds of proclamation probably doesn´t exist. No matter how hard one tries, they always end up saying something that could be classified as idiotic.

Sam knew that so he swallowed the first few things that came to his mind and tongue.

“I had a hunch,“ he said eventually with a smal smile, “we did kiss a lot recently.“

“I never said it though. I should have,“ Oropher replied, lowering his eyes, “people shouldn´t leave things like this for the very last moment. Wasting a feeling like this, for so many years...“

“ _Years_?“

“Oh, what does it matter! I said it! It´s done. Don´t leave me hanging, Sam,“ Oropher sighed and it was equal parts a plea and a soft warning.

The captain´s face grew melancholic. “Well, it´s... probably around quarter a century since I experienced the first butterfly while looking at you. Why do you think I never married? I couldn´t look a girl in the eye and say ´hey, I sort of like you, enough to put a ring on it, but my heart is completely elsewhere, somewhere it shouldn´t be, somewhere it´s not _allowed_ to be, but don´t mind that, let´s get married!´!“

Oropher was looking at him in a similar matter little girls look at butterflies, breathless and maybe a bit scared.

“So now, when I finally can say this openly,“ Sam continued, “I won´t leave you hanging. I love you. I have loved you for twenty five years and if the gods are gracious, I will continue to do so for at least another twenty five years.“

_Too bad we are going to die tomorrow._

* * *

“I did not expect us to make it so far today,“ Bard admitted when they were setting up the camp on the slopes of the river.

“It´s much easier to walk without roots, mushrooms and small animals under your feet,“ Thranduil smiled and slumped into the soft long grass. “Ouch. Alright, I need to undo my hair. At least for a while. That braid is killing me.“

“Do you want some help with that?“ “If you don´t mind...“

They tackled the hair and then Thranduil returned to his previous plan – slumping into the grass and staring up into the sky. It was mostly covered by thin draggy clouds but right above his head there was a piece of clear inky blue, like a gate into another, star-filled realm.

“Do you like watching the night sky?“ Bard asked, making himself comfortable by Thranduil´s side.

Thranduil nodded. “I love the sky. Not for any deep reasons, I just think it´s really beautiful. I contemplated climbing onto the roof several times in the tower, just to see more of it. From my window it was still the same old, same old...“

“With us you can see all the sky you want, I promise,“ Bard laughed, “just don´t climb on any roofs.“

_Though climbing on a roof is exactly what got me here and what got me you._

“Bard?“

“Hm?“

“Is falling in love really like they say in the books?“

Bard wasn´t prepared for that. He dreaded these questions from his own children and now it came from Thranduil, a grown man whom he knew for _days_.

But it couldn´t be left unaswered. Smaug had robbed Thranduil of this experience in the most important years of his life and probably never spoke to him about this ever, so it really couldn´t and shouldn´t be left unaswered.

Bard took a deep breath.

“I think the books... the people who write them, that is, work with a generalized idea of what falling in love is like,“ he said, “it can be like that or it can be completely different for you. They say you´ll know it when you´ll feel it and I think that´s sort of true. You just have to go with your gut on these things.“

Thranduil though about it for a second, twirling a shiny strand of hair sround his finger.

“That makes a lot of sense,“ he decided after said second, “but that also makes things so much more difficult it´s not even funny.“

“Agreed. Falling in love is not always fun. But it´s worth it,“ Bard said and his voice floated away into another set of thoughts.

He kept talking but it seemed he was saying those things more to himself and the sky than Thranduil.

“When I met Myra I instantly knew she was the one. I felt it in the deepest deep of my core. She was the most beautiful creature to ever walk this earth. Not only in looks, but also in soul. She was kind and intelligent and strong. I was so lucky to have her. She gave me three beautiful children and the best years of her life. And it all started that one night we had a good feeling about each other. Then she died. Winter killed her. She was weakened after Tilda, never recovered properly. She had gotten up way too early after giving birth. And that year the winter was... It was like a siege, except that instead of a foreign army there was ice and blizzards. Half the city starved because they weren´t ready. We gave everything to our kids, to keep them alive. Myra knew she should eat but couldn´t help it and gave up every meal to feed the children, safe for a few bites. When the ice melted, the kids didn´t have a mom and I didn´t have a wife.“

Bard shrugged, shaking off memories.

Thranduil quietly took his hand.

“It´s been a while since I felt about someone the way I felt about Myra,“ Bard added, “but the last few days had given me a lot of hope.“

“Me too,“ Thranduil whispered, “so much _hope_.“

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> How´s January treating you so far? It feels like ages since I published a chapter, tho it probably isn´t ages, my perception of time goes down the drain when there´s no school.  
> Thanks for the feedback, guys, I love reading it, it makes me so happy :3 Once again don´t hesitate to share any thoughts you have. A keyboard smash is just fine! Enjoy the chapter, guys! <3

Bard was not happy about the wagon that showed up in the early afternoon the other day. It had passed them on the road and then, some distance ahead, it slowed down and continued in the changed pace, as if it wanted the couple to follow it. It even stopped at one point.

“What do we do? Should we ask for a lift or should we improvise weapons?“ Thranduil whispered. “I for once could really use a lift.“

“Me too,“ Bard sighed.

He was used to walking a lot but the uncomfortable nights made his entire body ache in various places and he was pretty fed up with it already. There was no doubt Thranduil felt the same, only didn´t complain.

“Keep your hair covered,“ Bard turned to him, “if he stops again, we´ll try to approach him.“

“Right,“ Thranduil nodded with that kind of determination that always echoed in his voice when he was low key geting ready to fight someone.

Bard started to notice it a while back and found it extremely... what was the right word? Was´attractive´the right word?

Probably.

The wagon stopped again and this time its owner got out, and began to run around with a large sheet of something in his hands.

“Bard, I think he´s lost,“ Thranduil said.

“This is a single road leading forward, how do you get lost on that...“

“If he went through the woods, he could´ve gotten tangled with some leftover magic,“ Thranduil reminded him, “he got turned around just as we did and ended up on this road instead of the main one.“

“Do you think he´s going to the city then?“ Bard asked, scratching his head.

Thranduil shrugged. “He might be trying to.“

They walked up to the man with great caution. He was short and wide, sort of like a stump and incredibly sweaty. The weather wasn´t that hot, so it was probably nerves.

“Hello?“ Bard called as they approached. “Are you lost, sir?“

The man´s round face lit up like a wishing lantern.

“Gentlemen! Yes, I am so, so lost. This map shows turns and things that simply are not here! I don´t understand!“

“Can we have a look at that map?“ Thranduil asked, extending his hand. “Maybe we could help.“

“Why are you in such a rush, if I may ask?“ Bard inquired while looking over Thranduil´s shoulder into the sheet.

The wide man wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“I´m delivering wine and other supplies to the finest of the city´s establishments and I´m already running late, they won´t pay me if I don´t deliver on time! This never happened to me before!“

Thranduil raised his head and smiled: “You don´t have to worry, you are not far! Bard, am I right? Look, he just has to go like this and there´s the other gate!“

Bard watched his finger trace the road. It really wasn´t that far, if not on foot they could reach the city within hours, not before dark but certainly today. However, there was a problem.

“You can´t go through the west gate with a wagon this big,“ he turned to the owner, “the streets in that part are very narrow, not made for wagons, you´de get stuck or not let in at all. This is definitely the closer way but you still have to go around to the main gate.“

The short wide man scratched his head. “That is not good, not good at all, I´ll be so late...“

“Could he go around the walls?“ Thranduil leaned over the map.

“He could, but that would take way lomger. There is no path and even tho this wagon could make it through the fields, he´d have to be extra careful and go pretty slowly,“ Bard sighed.

“I´m sorry, sir, but I don´t think you´ll be able to make this order on time,“ he turned to the man.

“But...“ Thranduil shuffled into the man´s field of vision, “if you give us a ride to the west gate, we could stop by the place you´re delivering to and tell them why you got hold up and...you know, explain your situation so you don´t loose the contract or whatever you have with them.“

“Well, I don´t really have any other option, I´d give you a ride anyways, I suppose,“ the man shrugged, “you look like you have been walking a while.“

“Sir, you don´t know the half of it,“ Bard laughed.

“Climb on, fellas.“

They nested themselves between the bottles of wine and bags of dried mushrooms. Bard had a short déja-vu and shuddered. He hadn´t thought about the crown for days, at least not long enough to upset himself, but right now he almost felt like he could reach between the bags and pull it out right now.

Thranduil looked excited.

“We´re almost there, Bard,“ he whispered, grabbing his companion´s hands, “we made it!“

“We did. It´s almost suspicious. Stay alert,“ Bard replied, “until we are sitting at our table at home sipping hot cider, stay alert.“

“I am,“ Thranduil nodded, “but I am also really glad we don´t have to walk. And it smells nice in here, it´s making me hungry.Are we really getting hot cider? Isn´t it too hot for that?“

The wagon jolted its way towards the west gate, slowly yet surely and definitely faster then they would on foot. The sky eventually darkened, Thranduil began yawning and they didn´t se more than few feet ahead that were lit by the two lanterns at the front of the wagon.

The sky was clear but at one point Bard could swear he felt something fly over them. It gave him the heebie jeebies. They were in the open, like a single mouse in a field.

Then again, days had gone without a single hiccup. It could have been just a leftover paranoia.

“This is... strange. Young man, is this the west gate?“ the man turned back after some three hours of casual small talk and whistling.

Thranduil, who fell asleep on the bags, jerked awake.

“What?“ he mumbled, confused.

Bard climbed over to the front.

“That is one hundred percent not the west gate,“ he gasped, “Thranduil! We are at the main gate!“

Thranduil´s arms wrapped around his waist.

“We are?“ he yawned. “How? We were miles from it?“

The short man seemed to be overjoyed but Bard knew deep down what it was.

“I don´t like this,“ he turned to Thranduil, “this reeks of your father´s magic. We need to be really careful right now.“

Thranduil pulled the scarf deeper into his face. “How would he got there without us noticing?“

“I thought I... felt something,“ Bard admitted and lowered his voice, which probably wasn´t needed because their temporary driver was downright extatic about mysteriously reaching the main gate and wasn´t paying any attention to them.

“Something flew over. It could´ve been a big bird but then again... that would have to be a _really_ big bird,“ Bard continued, “I haven´t seen it do anything but what do I know about how your father goes about his stuff.“

Thranduil took his face into his palms. “Breathe, Bard. You´re home. I doubt my father would attack this close to the city. That would be stupid. He doesn´t want to bring attention to our existence.“

“Of course he _doesn´t_ ,“ Bard frowned and adjusted a single strand of hair that refused to stay in line under Thranduil´s scarf.

Thranduil´s face was more serious than the situation probably demanded. “Bard, this is getting real. This might be your last chance to send me away, because if you get bored with me behind those walls, I have nowhere to go,“ he said.

_And I am NOT running back home._

“What... _bored_ with you? Thranduil, you´re not a book!“

Bard was slightly offended that Thranduil would even assume that was a possibility.

“I made a commitment to you, alright?“ he continued rather passionately. “I didn´t plan on it but it happened. This is just the final step. And you know what, even if your dad shows up, and I admit he is frightening, I think I´m gonna punch in his magic teeth. If it makes you feel better.“

Thranduil laughed. “You don´t have to do that. I just needed to make sure, because...“

_Because my father´s words haven´t stopped ringing in my ears nd I need you to speak louder so I can´t hear them._

“..because I wanted to give you...“

“Oh dear, there seems to be a lot of guards at the gate!“ the driver exclaimed, although talking more to himself than his passenger,. “I wonder why. Weird people come around at this hour, I suppose. Hopefully this won´t delay us much more.“

Bard felt Thranduil´s fingers dig into his shoulder.

“It´s fine,“ he whispered to him, “they are not looking for us. They might search us but we don´t have anything suspicious. We don´t have anything, to be exact.“ “

Bard...“

“We´ll be through in no time.“

“Bard...“

“And if there were any troubles, I sort of know the captain. For reasons I would prefer not to disclose.“ “

_Bard!_ “

Thranduil looked like a shadow of himself all of a sudden.

“What´s wrong?“ Bard asked, feeling his heart drop. “You were pretty excited a second ago! It´s just a few guards!“

“Bard, I have the _crown_.“

“ _You have the what?!_ “

“Everything alright back there?“ the the merchant cheerfully inquired from his spot.

“We´re just happy to be finally here,“ Bard replied with a smile so fake it would put any dental replacement to shame. It disappeared when he turned back to Thranduil.

“How do you even _know_ about it?! How long.. _did you have it the entire time?!_ “

“Yes! I just didn´t give it to you so you wouldn´t ditch me in the woods!“

“I would never do that!“

“How was I supposed to be sure?! I´ve literally known you for days!“

For the first time during their entire journey, Bard was absolutely and perfectly clueless about how to proceed. The only possibility would be tossing the crown into the field and pretend all that shit he went through for it never happened.

_Their futures will be fine, everything will be fine, Redgrave already gave him a pass, the king said they were letting it go!_

“Give it to me,“ Bard said, “quickly.“

“Were those people after you the day we met?“ Thranduil was looking over his shoulder at the torches waiting ahead.

“That doesn´t matter, just give me the crown!“

“If you they find it on you they´ll lock you up!“

“If they find it _anywhere near m_ e, they will lock me up! And you too, just for the kicks! So give me the goddamn thing, Thranduil!“

“Good evening, gentlemen! Anything to declare? We are going to search nevertheless, so you might just tell us right away, haha!“

A jolly, red cheeked uniformed man approached the wagon and Bard knew they were doomed. It was officially too late. He saw Thranduil freeze with his hand inside the bag. There wasn´t much colour in his face to begin with and even this tiny amount now disappeared. The jolly guard became much less jolly when he saw them in the light of his torch.

“You two, please, exit the vehicle.“

“ _Exit the vehicle?_ Who says that these days?“ Bard laughed nervously.

Being casual wasn´t helping. As they approached the gate itself, with Thranduil crushing his hand in his own, Bard could see captain Redgrave and, of course, no surprise there, Small Sam. It was so expected Bard couldn´t even feel bitter or mad about it.

“The bags,“ Redgrave ordered when they came closer.

He looked tired, angry and the dark spot on the side of his neck could only be described as a hickey, which didn´t really fit into his overall appearance right now. Bard tried not to focus on that much. He should be and was way more concerned with what Redgrave was pulling out of Thranduil´s bag.

The crown shone in the light of the torches so brightly it could almost be interpreted as mocking.

“Maybe next time believe me on the first try?“ Small Sam´s voice said somewhere from the side.

There was something different about it, Bard could tell. The cockiness in it sounded _fake_.

“Take them in,“ the captain ordered without much vigor.

“Wow, wait a second, what do you mean ´them´, he has nothing to do with this!“ Bard protested immediately.

Sam Redgrave´s voice reeked of exasperation. “Of course he doesn´t, Bard, please, I don´t have energy for this right now, you got away, now you got caught, end of story. Until the king decides how to proceed since you are obviously guilty, you´ll stay in jail. I´ll personaly deliver the good slash bad news to your children.“

Bard pushed away the arms that began grabbing him. “Did you talk to my kids? Are they okay?“

“I did, they are,“ the captain replied coldly, “we have different worries now, however, so be a doll and let them drag you to jail, yes? Thank you.“

“You have to let him go! Sam! He has nothing to do with it! _Are you listening?!_ “

Bard knew Redgrave was listening. He just didn´t care. To use the phrase Sigrid had in her vocabulary for certain occasions, he was clearly _over it_.

Thranduil reached for him as they were being, as Redgrave had put it, dragged to jail. His nails unsuccesfully scratched the back of Bard´s hand, the guards pulled them apart.

“It´s going to be okay, I promise!“ Bard screamed in Thranduil´s general direction. “Don´t fight them!“

_I should have asked you about the crown before we even left the tower._

* * *

_Jail._

Thranduil stood motionless in the middle of the small musty smelling space, hugging himself as he was trying to shrink to the size of a bug because then maybe the walls would stop closing in on him so much. He nervously twisted the braid in his hands.

The place was strangely quiet. Jails should not be this quiet. Thranduil would actually appreciate some grunts or snoring or loud breath. This dead silence was freaking him out.

If there was a way out of this, out of being caught with a stolen crown, he didn´t know. He had read a lot but none of the books was about running from justice.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, Thranduil struggled to tell precisely, when Smaug showed up. He didn´t walk in, he didn´t climb in through the window, suddenly he was simply there.

“Ready to go home?“ he asked with an attempt at softness in his voice.

“I´m not even going to ask how did you know I was here,“ Thranduil said and turned away.

“Darling, you ran away with a criminal. Even a stupid human would know you´d end up here,“ Smaug scoffed somewhat lovingly and ripped off the lock. “Go up the stairs, left, letf, another stairs, then right and you walk out of here. Go slowly, nobody here knows you yet. Take down the scarf, the moon isn´t shining. I will meet you outside.“

“I am not coming back, father. I might be in jail but I still mean that,“ Thranduil said and turned away from the bars.

“Whatever. Stubborn child.“

And Smaug was gone. Thranduil waited a few minutes, then pushed the bars open. Going to Bard´s house seemed like the best idea at the moment. Four heads were better than one in figuring out how to get Bard out of jail when he was so clearly and undeniably guilty. Maybe they could talk to the captain of the guards again. He knew their family.

Thranduil swiftly followed the instructions given by Smaug. Stairs, left, left, stairs, right. People. Nobody was looking at him or acknowledging his existence in any other way while he walked among the men on the courtyard. Preparations for something were clearly in process. Soldiers were running around carrying whole armfuls of spears, axes and other pointy and sharp objects.

Thranduil passed through the crowd like a ghost. He was almost calm by the time he reached the streets. His heart was still beating with the energy of a butterfly in a jar but his mind was slowly beginning to focus on trying to find familiar things in the surroundings because his memory of Bard´s house was foggy at best. The streetlamps weren´t sufficient whatsoever, the place looked completely different in the dark.

He barely saw the figure that popped up from one dark corner.

Therefore he didn´t saw the punch coming either.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I think I might actually finish this thing within the limit I set for myself, huh. Here´s the next chapter. WARNING: GRAPHIC STUFF AHEAD. Like, I don´t know if it´s graphic enough to slap a tag on the entire fic, also, I don´t really know what is considered graphic these days, I can handle a lot but I realise people have different standarts... anyways, here´s the next chapter!  
> Thank you so much for the feedback, y´all are a treasure! Comments continue to be welcome! <3 <3 <3

Thranduil never tasted his own blood before.

The punch wasn´t strong enough to knock him out but was absolutely enough to make him hit the wall of the nearby house and loose the feeble illusion of control he had had up to this point. He scrambled up up to his feet and sent his clenched fist in the approximate direction of the attacker. It scarped a cheekbone but didn´t do any damage whatsoever. Unlike the second punch from the invisible man.

A hand ripped the scarf off his shoulders and another one grabbed his hair. It hurt, Thranduil shrieked. Landing on his back he could finally make out a silhouette of the attacker. He wasn´t tall, he maybe wasn´t even a he, but Thranduil knew exactly... three quarters of a woman and that was the combination of Bard´s young daughters.

Since this person went for the scarf and the hair, he assumed he knew him. Of course there wasn´t much space to assume anything because Thranduil was being attacked.

The man pushed him into the ground and knelt on his chest.

“Don´t squirm,“ he said, “I´ll just take what´s mine and leave you alone.“

He whipped out a knife. Thranduil realized two things at once.

The voice, he knew it. And the knife, that was to cut off his hair. One of those was not important at all, but the other... Without the hair, Thranduil was ordinary and until that option appeared within the reach of his hand, he never found it that desirable. He had never cut his hair because his father said he couldn´t and that was pretty much the end of it for Thranduil. He had never even thought about it because he, being the good son he was, hadn´t wanted to disobey his parent. But in a situation like this, a situation beyond his control, he would be so happy to loose what was essentially a burden.

Thranduil would let him cut off his hair. He _hoped_ the man would cut off his hair.

But of course that would be way too easy.

Small Sam flipped the knife in his hand out of habit and wrapped the thick long braid around his hand, ready to cut. His prey stopped fighting and was almost still, only struggling for air under the weight of a short yet grown man on his chest. There was barely a trace of fear in his face, which thrown Small Sam off a bit. He did not exactly expect this amount of anger and defensivness in his victims.

There was something else though. Small Sam slid the knife under the hair but stopped. This was the first time he saw the other man´s face completely. In the dark, yes, but completely, no scarf in the way, with the loose pale hair thrown around and this one persistent thought kicking and scartching at the back of Small Sam´s mind...

_He resembles the king._

_So much._

“Who are you?“ Small Sam heard himself ask with disbelief and confusion dripping from his voice.

The equal amount of disbelief and confusion was present on Thranduil´s side. Was this man seriously _talking_ to him right now? He could barely brief and the person who decked him was _asking him questions_?!

Small Sam lowered his face a little. Thranduil would flinch if there was anything but firm ground behind him.

“You look like... you look just like the kin-“

Small Sam let out a short forced gasp and a strange tension ran through his entire body. What happened next was traumatizing in several ways. It mostly involved blood suddenly pouring out of the man´s mouth.

Thranduil screamed and pushed him off but it already got onto his shirt and face. He began to frantically wipe it off with his sleeves while trying to get as far from the dying man as possible. He felt as if he was about to throw up his own heart. Being attacked in a dark alley and threatened with a knife was one thing, danger had been on his heels since he had left the tower. But a man dying centimetres from him, that was another story. The death was so close Thranduil almost felt it touching him, like cold finger poking his chest.

Small Sam´s body looked like a pile of dirty laundry. Thranduil could see his eyes. He turned away and blinked several times to shoo away the tears. It wasn´t pity or anything of that kind. Just pure shock.

Smaug wiped the dagger on his own cloak and stepped over the dead man.

“Are you alright, my dear?“

It was the most genuine worry Thranduil had ever heard in Smaug´s voice. When Smaug knelt next to him and took his face into his hands, he let him.

“Oh my, you´re shaking. Come on, get up. It´s fine, it´s over, he´s dead.“

“He wouldn´t harm me,“ Thranduil said weakly.

His legs weren´t working.

“He wouldn´t harm me,“ he repeated, “he just wanted my hair. That´s all he would´ve taken.“

“These men never take only what they came for. They always find a way to get themselves a little bonus. Be glad he´s dead, my child,“ Smaug said, pulling him closer.

Thranduil wrapped his arms around him. He felt nauseous.

“Let´s go home, Thranduil. You´ve tried, you´ve met one decent man, but the rest of the world is just like him,“ Smaug pointed in the direction of Small Sam´s body.

Thranduil shook his head, still far from being himself. All of his energy went to not looking at the corpse. “I can´t leave Bard. Don´t ask me to do that.“

“But dear,“ Smaug sighed, “he is gone.“

Thranduil begun to return to the reality or maybe to slip out of it, because the reality right now was horrible, the worst.

“What do you mean, he´s not gone, he´s just locked up, we can get him out, we can...“

“Thranduil, he´s gone. He stole the most precious thing the king posseses. He is going to be beheaded or hanged, if it haven´t happened already and there is nothing to do. He´s a criminal. He will go down like a criminal.“

“He has _three children_! Father, we can´t leave them, we.. we have to do something!“ Thranduil stepped away from the hug.

He was putting himself together and Smaug didn´t have time for this. For over a quarter of century he forced himself to have enough decency not to use magic on Thranduil.

But there was a first time for everything.

* * *

“Sam... Sam! Hey, captain! I really need you to acknowledge me right now!“

Bard slammed his hand against the bars. It wasn´t getting caught that bothered him. It was his separation from Thranduil. The palace jail was different than the woods. One couldn´t kick down a tunnel in here and be done with it.

Bard seriously needed to talk to Redgrave about this, too bad the captain wasn´t paying any attention to him. He was leaning on the wall in the darkest possible corner and all Bard could see was the red hot tip of his cigarette.

It was shaking.

It almost looked like the captain was hiding so he didn´t have to be a captain for a while.

Bard leaned on the bars. “Sam, please, talk to me. I need you to help me out here. I don´t want the wrong people getting hurt! This is on my head, alright? Let Thranduil go. I need him to go and be with my kids, they´re going to take care of each other when I´m gone…“

_“What did you say?“_

At this point Bard did not expect Sam to react. And if so, certainly not like this.

“Do you really want me to repeat all that I just said?“ he asked slowly, realizing how inappropriately sassily that sounded.

Sam walked up to the bars and clutched them so firmly his knuckles turned white. Not as white a his face, however. That was a whole different level of white. Ghosts would be considered tanned in comparison to the colour Sam Redgrave had at the moment.

“The _name_ , the name you just said!“ he barked impatiently.

Bard was confused. “Are you alright, captain?“

_“Just repeat the damn name, Bard!“_

“Thranduil, his name´s Thranduil, what does is bloody matter, just let him go!“

Sam Redgrave opened his mouth several times but no sound came out a first. It seemed like a real struggle for him to put the words in the correct order. When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded like an echo inside a tomb. Bard had no idea how he came up with that analogy but it was spot on.

“Do you think this is _funny_? Are you having a laugh about this?!“

“I´m... what? I don´t know what are you talking about, I´m certainly not in a position to have a laugh? The...the guy who was arrested with me, the guy I was yelling about this entire time, his name´s Thranduil, you wanted me to repeate the name, I-“

Bard took a step back because Sam was slightly scaring him at the moment. Something at the back of his mind was screaming the obvious, but the obvious still wasn´t obvious enough for Bard to put one and one together.

“Bard, if this is some big elaborate plan that has been in motion for years, you have to tell me right now. Right now, you understand? Because this will hurt Oropher so much you can´t even begin to comprehend,“ Sam said and it looked like he was on the brink of some sort of meltdown. “It will break him, destroy him, quite possibly kill him, so whatever is that you´re planning, just...drop it.“

“I stopped understanding what is happening approximately five minutes, Sam, now you´re just freaking me out, more than the imminent threat of losing my head,“ Bard admitted, “so if anyone needs to drop something, it´s you and this."

He vaguely gestured around the captain, keeping a safe distance. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong,even worse than it had already gone.

Sam rubbed his forehead. “Why did you mention that name, Bard? Is it really his? How stupid of a coincidence would that be?“

“This is getting frustrating,“ Bard sighed, “I´m not going to stand here and repeat that I have no clue what is happening anymore, so, either you tell me right now what´s the deal with the name ´Thranduil´ or it´s going to be me, who´s going to stand in a dark corner and ignore the other person.“

“The _prince´s_ name, Bard! You stole his goddamn crown and you´re telling me you don´t know his name?!“

Bard frowned. “That´s not right, the prince´s name was Oropherion...?“

“That´s the old language!“ the captain pretty much screamed. “Have you been living under a rock?! It means ´son of Oropher´or something like that! The child´s _first name_ was Thranduil!“

Bard´s mind exploded and all those piled up thoughts, held back by phrases like ´must be a coincidence´ or ´it was only a story´, came forward and flooded everything.

_Everything fits._

_All of it._

_Every single piece of this insane puzzle that wasn´t supposed to happen at all. You´re in an urban legend about a stolen price, Bard._

_Get a grip and do something._

“We just lost so much time doing this,“ Bard said and each word was exhausting him, “so you need to listen to me very carefully now, Sam. Go and find him, wherever they locked him up. And take a good, very very good look at him.“

Then he sat down heavily because he feared he might faint. In fact, he was positive he was going to faint. Or maybe have a heart attack. Yes, probably a heart attack.

* * *

Oropher had been staring into the ceiling for over to hours now. He tried, really tried, to get some sleep. There was a dragon waiting at the dawn. The dragon didn´t know it, hopefully, but it was there. Sleep seemed like an important thing at the moment. So important Oropher even demanded they drug his drink, but whatever was in it clearly wasn´t working. The kind partly blamed the once again empty spot next to him.

He was almost happy when the captain barged in without knocking. And a little less happy when he saw the captain´s face.

“Sam, you look like you have walked through a purgatory, what is happening?“

Oropher promtply slipped into his night robe while Sam was trying to catch his breath.

“I don´t even know where to start,“ he admitted when he caught it, “I need you to come with me. I didn´t want to do this, you should be spared, your heart should be spared, but I… you need to know.“

Oropher reluctantly took the offered hand.

“Your palms aren´t usually sweating this much,“ he noted with a worried look.

Sam´s forehead was also drenched in sweat. Cold sweat. The king carefully touched the captain´s cheek.

“Sam, are you alright?“

“No. Not at all. Nothing is alright,“ the other man shook his head. “It´s like the stolen crown was the first piece of domino Bard knocked down and since then everything has been collapsing with horrible precision. I think we might be at the end of the chain, Oropher. It started with Bard and it´s ending with Bard.“

Oropher had to speed up to match Sam´s frantical pace. “You keep saying the name Bard and I don´t even know who…oh, wait, is that the man whose daughter came to ask for help the other day?“

“Yes, doesn´t matter though.“

“Sam, slow down! I´m not going to jog!“

The captain slowed down but his grip on Oropher´s hand tightened. His impatience and (Oropher wasn´t hesitant to call it that anymore) hysteria were seeping through his fingers.

They barged into the palace dungeon. It was dark and for a second the king was completely blinded. Those torches on the walls weren´t doing much of their job. Sam banged on the bars of the first cell in which Oropher faintly recognized a shape of a sitting man.

“Bard! The king would like a word.“

“Would I?“ Oropher whispered.

“You would, trust me,“ Sam replied.

To the king´s surprise, Bard looked similarly traumatized as Sam. He slowly walked up to the bars and during those few steps his expression grew inexplicably apologetic.

“Your Majesty,“ he said quietly with a little bow that seemed to be extremely tiring for him.

“What did you people see down here?“ Oropher gasped at the sight of him.

“I don´t know where to start, Your Majesty,“ Bard sighed, “there´s too much. I´d like to start by apologizing for the whole stealing thing… it barely matters now but I am genuinely sorry. If I knew what will come of it, I would never…“

He stopped mid sentence and it seemed he needed to think about the rest of it.

“Actually,“ he continued, “that´s a lie. _Especially_ knowing what will come of it, I would do it again. And again, and again and a thousand times again. But that doesn´t matter either. The crown is back in your possession now. Get rid of that window above it and lowlifes like me won´t have a chance of getting to it.“

“I don´t think that is the reason Sam dragged me all the way down here,“ Oropher frowned, “the crown is important to me, yes, it is all I have left from my son but right now it isn´t about the crown, is it?“

Bard wasn´t listening.

“It´s uncanny, really,“ he said, absentmindedly staring at the king´s face, “he looked just like you, I can´t believe I didn´t see it right away.“

“Oropher,“ Sam weighed in carefully, “this really isn´t about the crown. It´s more about… the prince. Bard found him. He was here, a while ago, in one of these cells and now he´s… he´s gone. I messed up and he´s gone.“

Oropher stared at him and his silence was heavier than any silence Sam had experienced before. For a moment he thought the king was going to slap him, but he didn´t. He didn´t do anything, it was as if he turned to stone on the spot.

The captain wasn´t able to bear the silence for too long. “Oropher, please say something.“

“I… I don´t know ho to react to this,“ the king said quietly with tears already creeping into his voice, “Sam, what are you saying?“

Bard replied instead.

“When I fled with your crown, I met a man,“ he said, “in the forest, I came across a tower and he was in there. I got shot, he took care of my wound. I stayed there long enough to meet the creature that claimed to be his _father_. To make a long story short, I couldn´t simply leave him there, knowing what kind of existence he led in that tower, that he was a prisoner of this warlock or whatever that thing was, so one thing led to another and I offered him to come and live with me and my children. There were hints. So many of them. I came so close to the realization I could _touch it_ but I dismissed it because how often do people find lost royal offspring in the forest, I mean – nobody would consider… after more that twenty-five years…“

His voice slowly broke off into nothing.

“The tower,“ Oropher whispered but it soon stopped being just a whisper, “the tower! Lavender under the pillow! The nightmares! _I was right!_ I knew it, I was right, from the very beginning!“

He blindly reached for a support and would have collapsed if Sam hadn´t caught him. The king pushed him away and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“I was right and you said it was nothing! That it wasn´t _healthy_ , that I needed to let go! We could´ve gone there again, we could´ve gotten him! Because I was bloody right! I can´t believe I listened to _you_ over my own instincts!“

Bard could see the arrow that was Oropher´s ´you´ in that sentence. The tone in which the king said that simple word was full of betrayal and Sam Redgrave didn´t do anything to defend himself.

Bard stepped back when Oropher turned to him. On one hand he looked like he was going to fall apart any second under the weight of circumstances, on the other, if looks could kill, Bard and Sam would be dead.

“Where is he, Bard?“

“Apparently not here anymore,“ Bard replied as calmly as he managed at the moment (that is, not very calmly). “It si possible we were followed. Your captain said the lock on his cell was broken. Either it was Small Sam or it was…. _him_. You know, the _fathe_ r. I´m sorry, I don´t know what else to call him.“

“Small Sam´s dead,“ the captain said, “we found his body near the market. Signs of a struggle. He was stabbed.“

Bard shook his head. “Thranduil certainly didn´t carry a dagger. If he were, he would stab a man but…“

Oropher ran his fingers through his hair, fighting an urge to rip something, preferably himself, apart. There was a tiny bit of doubt, like a dying flame on a piece of leftover wax, but that dying flame was dying fast. This was real, this was happening and he didn´t know what to feel first. The bitternes, anger towards Sam, guilt about the anger towards Sam, fear, worry… it was a long list of emotions and happines stood at the very end of it, waiting to have its turn. It wasn´t sure i fit was even getting a turn.

Not knowing what to do, Oropher turned around and walked away. Bard and Sam listened to the echo of his steps until it disappeared completely.

“I think he sort of hates you right now, it´s none of my business,“ Bard spoke eventually, “but he is very, very distraught. People who are very, very distraught, do stupid things. You should go to him. To make sure he doesn´t do a _stupid thing_.“

Sam took the key ring off his belt and found the one belonging to Bard´s cell. His hands were shaking. Maybe again, maybe still.

“You should go home,“ he said as he unlocked the cell.

Then he left without another word.

Bard hated when people did that.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes another chapter! Only three more to go! I hope you guys will enjoy it, this one was difficult to put together and I frankly have mixed feelings about it, so lemme know what you think :3   
> As usually, thanks for the feedback and kisses and hug to y´all <3

“Don´t explain anything, I´m just happy you´re home,“ Sigrid said when they finally released their father from the group hug.

“Where is Thranduil?“

“He´s not here, huh,“ Bard sighed and looked around the room.

“Nope. We already told that to captain Redgrave,“ Tilda replied.

She was yawning.

 _My activities are starting to severely interfere with my children´s sleep schedule_ , Bard thought. Who knew how many nights they had all stayed up waiting for him.

“Is something wrong with Sam, by the way?“ Bain asked and pushed a plate of cheese, bread and slightly shrivelled grapes. “Because he looked like he was about to die.“

“Things got complicated,“ Bard said, “and I think they will stay that way for a while. Everything got out of hand.“

Sigrid pulled up a chair and sat down with a very clear expression of wanting to hear everything on the spot.

“I know I said you don´t have to explain anything, but you´re not allowed to be cryptic either, da,“ she said.

Bard nodded. “I didn´t expect to have a choice. It´s about Thranduil anyway, so you should know.“

He gave himself a minute to gather the thoughts and find a proper point to start at.

“Sigrid, remember the story you told Tilda a while ago… the one where at the end everyone was miserable or dead?“ he turned to his oldest.

“Yeah, what about it?“ Sigrid shrugged.

“Is there..I don´t know, a second chapter? Anything beyond the point where you ended?“

She frowned and popped a grape between her fingers. “Maybe? I don´t know, I don´t really remember hearing anything else besides what I retold. Why?“

“It´s all true,“ Bard said, “before most of it was true but now it´s _everything_. Probably event the stuff about Oropher going to the underground king and the magic golden vein.“

“Bullshit!“ Bain exclaimed with eyes on top of his head.

“Bain, language,“ Sigrid said automatically, “da, I´m not following you.“

“I am!“ Tilda yelled and stood up on the chair. “It´s Thranduil, isn´t it?! He´s the lost prince!“

She looked like someone set off fireworks inside her head.

“Oh my… da, _is_ he?“ Bain leaned forward so quickly he knocked over Sigrid´s coffee mug.

Nobody cared. They let the black liquid drip on the floor.

“He is,“ Bard nodded.

“Holy mackerel,“ Sigrid mumbled into her palms. She feared that if she hadn´t covered her mouth, she would start screaming, possibly uncontrollably.

“And the warlock?“

“He´s real. The most disturbing person I have ever met.“

“The _hair_?!“

“It glows. It heals. As I said, all of it is real.“

“When did you find out? Is that why it took you so long?“ Tilda asked.

Bard laughed but it was a short and bitter laugh. “Actually, I didn´t realize anything, because I´m an idiot. Thranduil could be walking around with the royal seal on his goddamn forehead and I wouldn t notice. Until I mentioned the name to Sam Redgrave and he freaked out, I had no clue. I mean, I had clues, they were really all over the place, but I was doing an exceptional job at ignoring them. Can you believe I had no idea the prince´s name was Thranduil?“

“I thought the prince´s name was Oropherion,“ Bain frowned, “at least that´s how he´s always mentioned, isn´t it?“

“Old language,“ Sigrid whispered in sudden realization, “in old language it was a custom to give children their father´s name as sort of a surname. Oropherion means ´son of Oropher´, it´s not the actual name!“

“Sam said something along those lines, yes,“ Bard nodded, “but the real problem is the following – Oropher _knows_ and the warlock quite likely took Thranduil back. Either that or he´s really really lost. Also, remember Small Sam? He´s dead, somebody stabbed him in the back. Not figuratively speaking, someone actually stabbed him.“

“Wow,“ Tilda said simply and it pretty much summed up the situation.

“Are we sure Thranduil isn´t really just lost?“ Bain asked. “Are we sure he was… re-kidnapped?“

“He followed us,“ Bard said, “I _felt_ him following us. And quite frankly, Thranduil might have gone voluntarily. We´re talking about a warlock here. Once they get inside your head… he persuaded an adult man he´s in his teens and that a tower is the best place for him. Thranduil was very adamant about not going back there but I think a few correctly chosen phrases would change his mind.“

* * *

The breaking wasn´t quite as fun and efficient as Smaug had expected but he decided to call it a success nevertheless. Thranduil was back in the tower and his views of the world weren´t that different from when he had left. Sleeping on the ground, barely eating, being attacked on several occasions, a short yet unpleasant time in a prison cell… these things might have not meant much at the moment, but in time they were about to form a small but persistent trauma that would poke its head out every time Thranduil would think about leaving the tower again.

At least Smaug hoped so. He decided to built the walls higher and the windows smaller in his new defense nevertheless. He still couldn´t figure out why his magic had failed in the first place.

Thranduil watched him put up the layers and layers of it around the clearing. When his stomach started to turn, he returned to his bed and wished pulling the blanket over his head would solve all the problems.

It didn´t.

Bard was going to die. Because of a crown. A piece of jewellery nobody had even worn from the looks of it. Maybe Smaug was right and people were just ugly, because _who does that_? Who takes a life of a father of three over a _stupid trinket?!_

Something poked Thranduil in the side. He hadn´t noticed his bag when he had slumped into the pillows. Now he pulled it from underneath his back and turned it upside down. He had emptied it earlier but clearly something was still inside.

A single gemstone dropped on his covers. No suprise there. Even the best work of the most skilled master wouldn´t survived days of _camping_. Crowns weren´t made for that.

Thranduil briefly and without much interest examined the bottom of the bag. There was a hole in the lining, the stone must have slipped under it, that was why they had missed it when they had searched their bags at the gates.

Thranduil tried to remember the last words him and Bard said to each other. He couldn´t. He picked up the stone and slouched back onto the pillows. The tiniest thing to remember them by, Bard, the children, the city…

_Tomorrow is the song day._

Thranduil started to hum pieces of what he had managed to put together from the melody. It wasn´t much. Sometimes there wasn´t any melody to speak of whatsoever, the wind would bring a word or two, or not even as much as a feeling. But years of listening to whatever it had brought engraved it deep inside Thranduil´s mind without even knowing it.

The candlelight bounced off the small facets and made light spots dance around the room.

_See, the boy with the glowing hair is the son of our... king... and he was... taken by a... warlock... T_

_hranduil, how old are you?_

A woman´s voice came out of nowhere and took over the melody in Thranduil´s mind.

_…golden locks with shiny stones in them, like small hidden suns…_

_I´m pretty sure it´s possible to forget you are royalty when you´re like... one._

_Way too many things add up._

One slight turn of a hand and the stone caught fire. Like a small hidden sun.

_Thranduil, how old are you?_

Other stones. Other small hidden suns, spinning around, hitting each other with the softest ringing sound.

Soft white linen. Lace. Hands that never wore rings. Two pairs of them. Flowy pale hair. Velvet and silk against his skin.

_That was the king._

_A sad, nicely dressed ghost._

The woman´s voice was getting closer. As if she was walking towards Thranduil in a corridor.

_THRANDUIL, HOW OLD ARE YOU?_

“What?“ Thranduil flinched.

The stone dropped to the floor and split in two.

“I asked if you were hungry,“ Smaug replied, “are you feeling alright?“

_When did he get back up here? I didn´t let down the hair…_

Smaug reached for him.

_More claws than hands._

_Not gently lifting, but grabbing, digging into the skin._

_A man screamed. Smell of blood. A shape of a window disappearing behind them. Someone was in that window._

_I´m pretty sure it´s possible to forget you are royalty when you´re like... one._

“I´d knew it if I were a royal. Those are things you don´t forget,“ Thranduil whispered.

“Excuse me?“ Smaug raised an eyebrow.

“I said,“ Thranduil raised his voice, “I´d knew if I were a royal. Those are things you _don´t forget_.“

The woman touched his cheek and smiled. He couldn´t see her face but she smelled of lavender.

* * *

“This doesn´t seem like the right mindset to be in before fighting a dragon,“ Oropher said when he, for the lack of a better word, parked his horse next to Sam Redgrave.

The captain continued his fifth check of the buckles and sstraps of his saddle.

“What is the right mindset to be in before fighting a dragon, according to Your Majesty?“ he asked without looking up.

“Sam, I don´t remember much from the last night. I feel like I have some sort of a... mental hangover,“ Oropher sighed, “if I said something horrible, and I fear I might have, I´m sorry. Did I... say something that hurt you?“

“It wasn´t really what you said, more like how you said it,“ Sam admitted, “but I´ll live.“

_It hurt like a bitch, but I won´t tell you that. Also you were sort of right. But I won´t tell you that either._

Oropher´s voice was dry. Like a dried out river. And judging from the red eyes, there had been some crying. Sam didn´t want to ride towards a possible death with this being their last conversation.

“Remember what Bard said when I mentioned Small Sam was dead?“ he turned to Oropher. “If Thranduil was carrying a dagger, he would stab a man.“

“Are you attempting to comfort me?“ Oropher asked because wherever Sam was going with this, the king´s mind wasn´t on the right track.

“Virtually, yes,“ Sam nodded, “I´m trying to tell you that if your son is indeed out there, he isn´t some fragile flower. Whatever was happening to him, it didn´t break him. He´s strong. So.. you know... remember that.“

“I don´t think I fully accepted this is happenng yet,“ Oropher sighed and rubbed his temples, “I´m not really in the _moment_. I should be, Right? I should be happy and worried and... excited? Some adrenaline should be going on, I don´t know. Is it wrong I´m not really feeling anything, Sam? Like, anything _at all_?“

“It´s a lot to process, Oropher. Don´t worry about it. Pick a simple thing to focus on at the moment. Like surviving.“

“Is that a simple thing? Right now? Under these circumstance?“ Oropher doubted that.

“The concept of it, yes. The realization of that concept, probably not so much,“ the captain admitted and was relieved to hear the king chuckle.

He looked up at him and caught a last flinch of a brief smile.

“You know I don´t exactly overflow with optimism,“ he said, “but we are going to make it through this. We are going to tie up all the loose ends, no matter what ends that will be. It´s going to be fine.“

Oropher tried to keep these words in mind when they were entering the forest but it was tricky. They seemed to have different meanings. Who exactly was ´we´and how would Sam define ´fine´? And what bothered Oropher the most was that the captain hadn´t stopped him, hadn´t said anything when the king had showed up before the departure. No protest regarding his participation on slaying of a dragon whatsoever. That was very unlike Sam Redgrave.

_Maybe he wants you to be the last thing he sees before dying._

* * *

Bard knew this would be his last trip to the tower in one sense of the word or the other. The children had made it very obvious that their faith in their da was unshakable but Bard´s wasn´t. He didn´t have a plan, This could be barely called an atempt. But they had all agreed that it must have been attempted. Thranduil wasn´t a stray cat that might or might not come home later. Thranduil was important. The fact that he disappeared was important. And bad.

Sigrid wasn´t happy that Bard was leaving after being home for a lousy few hours, but she had still found the biggest, sharpest knife they owned and put it inside Bard´s bag. Bain borrowed a horse from one of the neighbours, fortunately they didn´t ask what for and whether the animal was going to return in one piece. Bain hoped it would. They were nice people.

Bard caught up with the army almost immediately. Well, army was probably a strong word. It wasn´t the whole army, there would be no point in bringing an entire army into a _forest_. But all soldiers were armed up to their teeth and had the stone cold expressions of men marching into hell. No explanation of what they were doing and when they were going was needed. Everything was crystal clear, especially after yesterday´s night.

Bard headed to the very front where he assumed the captain and some high army officers would be. They were there but most of them would obviously prefer not to be there. Which was a natural reaction to the entire situation.

Sam Redgrave wasn´t happy to see him.

“Go back,“ he said immediately, “we can´t afford civilians getting hurt.“

“But the king getting hurt, that´s all fine with you, huh,“ Bard nodded towards Oropher.

Oropher gave him a quick look and his horse picked up the pace.

“That´s different, of course,“ Sam hissed, “it´s about Thranduil.“

“Exactly. It´s about Thranduil,“ Bard agreed, “and it _is_ different. This _civilian_ is gladly gonna get hurt if it means the prince is safe. You can´t do anything about it, so don´t even try.“

Sam lowered his voice. “Bard, you barely just returned home. Things worked up unexpectedly and drastically in your favour and I would very much recommend not messing it up again. I don´t know what you think is happening or has happened between you and Thranduil, but the sooner you let it go, the better for everybody.“

Bard didn´t say anything. He wasn´t sure what was happening or has happened between him and Thranduil. There were feelings involved, for sure, but...

_You idiot._

_You might die today._

_This is the worst time to be in denial about things. Just get your shit together and admit you are in love with that guy. He´s brave, strong, smart, beautiful. Just like Myra was. Your children met him once and they adore him._

_And if by some miracle he gets rescued and brought home, to his real father, to his palace, to his blue-blooded heritage, it´s all going to be over anyway._

_So the least you can do is admit you are in love with him._


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the next chapter! I feel like there´s way too much walking in this one but it mostly serves as the last transition chapter, so pls be patient, the remaining two chapters shall be better XD  
> Thank you so much for all the feedback, it´s making me so so so happy <3 <3 <3   
> As usually, tell me anything that´s on your mind!

“It´s here. I am sure. This is the right distance from the main path, I know it. I´ve been here _twice_. Trust me.“ Bard turned to the captain.

“It´s here,“ he repeated, “we just have to get through.“

“Through _what_?“ Oropher gestured at the row of trees in front of them, “it´s trees and there is more trees behind that, the tower was on a clearing!“

They had been walking there and back for almost an hour.

“This is not the spot, Bard,“ Sam Redgrave said for the fifth time but each time he had said it, more doubt seeped into his voice.

“This is a _warlock_ we´re talking about, a man that can shapeshift into a dragon apparently, so clearly there is some sort of a magical protection in place,“ Bard reminded them, “when I was passing through here for the first time, there was something actively pushing me back, I remember it, it was like trying to get through an invisible sheet. When we got out of there, we got lost because of his stupid spells. We need to get through and we need to be really careful about it.“

“If that is true, it´s going to be much stronger this time,“ Oropher said, “but standing around doesn´t do anything. Sam, let the man show us the way.“

Bard headed towards the trees, praying he was right. Behind his back he heard the men getting down from their saddles. He held out his hand, pushing against nothing.

_How do you know you´re not already lost? Maybe he set up traps far further from the tower, maybe you have already stepped into one._

Bard didn´t knew how to proceed except for going forward. The trees felt normal to touch, so did the ground and the air and he would have given his left hand for a sign of something unusual, something that would tell him this was indeed the right direction. Going by heart was a very romantic thing to do, yet not the most practical one.

The Bard saw the hair.

It was Thranduil´s beyond any doubt and it was highly suspicious. Bard was reluctant to believe Smaug wouldn´t wipe off every trace of them passing through here, but then again, if it was set by him for them to find, why bother with the extensive protection?

Maybe Smaug was so sure he had won he just didn´t care anymore. That was the longest of the long shots but also the most hopeful possibility.

“See this?“ he turned to the king. “This is the right way.“

Oropher´s expression twitched when he saw the hair but he kept himself together. “Let´s move then.“

Bard wrapped the hair around his palm. It seemed like a good idea. He headed forward with a bit more confidence now. Carefully putting one foot in front of the other, making sure he wouldn´t unknowingly change the direction, he kept walking for what had to be another two hours at least. But he grew more and more confident with every step. Maybe following his heart wasn´t such a bad idea.

“Do you really think he knows where he´s going?“ Oropher whispered to Sam at one point and slid his hand under the captain´s arm.

“I think none of us would know, so Bard really is a our best chance right now,“ Sam whispered back, “we should be happy he showed up. I don´t think we would´ve ever get even close to that tower.“

“I´m going to walk around fo a week, I don´t care, I´m not leaving until I find him,“ Oropher replied, “I hope I made that clear.“

“Don´t worry, Your Majesty. We´ll get there.“

Bard stopped abruptly. “I think this is it,“ he said, “the air right here feels like it weighs a ton. Be careful.“

He still couldn´t tell if Smaug wanted them to come or not. Things appeared to be contradicting each other. Why put up a defense that is possible to overcome by basically just concentrating really hard and minding your step? Maybe he wanted it to _seem_ like he didn´t want them to come, maybe he wanted to look confident with his magic while being secretly very aware of the fact that they were going to get through.

But that was a big maybe.

They continued forward and it was like walking through a brick wall, at least to some extent. Frustrating, seemingly pointless and very uncomfortable.

“Bard, we are practically standing on one spot,“ Sam said, “whatever we are doing, it´s not working.“

“I don´t know how else you would suggest we go about walking except for walking?“ Bard asked. “We can try climbing the tress and going over it, if you want.“

The captain couldn´t tell whether Bard was joking or not.

“Is that a real option?“ Bard gave him a look.

“I don´t know, is it? Depends on how good of a tree-climber you are.“

“You two need to stop talking and keep walking,“ Oropher said sharply.

He grew impatient. Sam felt his grip tighten.

So they kept walking, with heavy heads and even heavier minds, because regardless of how bad this right now was, what was ahead was worse. A big part of the group didn´t even want to get through the barrier.

They stopped several times to rest. The daylight was slipping away and the frustration grew with every hour passing. Nobody understood how come they haven´t reached the clearing yet when they had headed out at dawn. Some worried they were trapped forever. Bard couldn´t argue with that, it was a terrifying and valid possibility. Nobody knew the extent of Smaug´s powers.

“This is getting hopeless, Bard,“ Sam said, “We´ve been walking for ages, give it a bit more and the men will start turning back on their own because they will be too tired to fight a street cat, let alone a dragon!“

Bard stopped and sighed heavily.“ _I_ am not a warlock, alright? I can´t do anything about this. How do you proceed when you have to actually _move_ the army? Have they never been in war?“

“We´re losing daylight.“

“Again, _I am not a warlock_ and I cannot do anything about that either.“

Bard took another step and a twig broke under his boot. A wave of fresh air hit him in the face and he just now realized how difficult it had been to breath until then.

They were through.

He signalled back to keep it down and proceed with caution.

The clearing was empty and quiet. No wind, no birds, not even insect. That much silence was never a good sign.

“Something is wrong,“ Bard whispered.

“Everything is wrong, Bard,“ Sam said and automatically pushed the king behing his back. “It´s dark, for starters.“

“I meant something _more_ than everything, captain,“ Bard replied dryly, “do you hear the silence? All the animals fled. The dragon is here somewhere. We need to be ready for an attack.“

Sam gave an order. It quickly passed through the rows of his men. Bard heard the rustle of weapons being prepared as quietly as possible.

Then they had to start somewhere.

Bard walked up to the tower. “Thranduil, let down your hair!“ 

_Bad idea. But you know it is._

Behind him a line of shooters formed a half-circle. They lit the torches. The king unsheathed his sword. Everyone expected a monster to flew out of the window and unfold itself but instead it was really just the hair.

Untangled it dropped right in front of Bard´s nose. He heard the men behind him gasp.

“He´s not in the window,“ Bard said, “if everything was alright he´d be in the window now. Be ready. For anything.“

He bit down on the knife Sigrid had given him and began to climb.

“He never cut his hair,“ Oropher whispered, “you do know what that means, right, Sam? He was _using_ him.“

“I know this is hard,“ Sam turned to him,“ but I need you to concentrate now, Oropher. First we battle the dragon, then we battle the trauma.“

The king looked at him quietly for a second, then pulled him closer and kissed him.

“In case we part,“ he said afterwards.

“We won´t,“ Sam replied.

He was determined to keep that promise. At any cost.

Bard reached the windowsill. He didn´t need to go any further to see that everything that could be wrong was wrong.

Thranduil was lying on the floor not far from the window. Not injured, as far as Bard saw, but also not conscious. His hands seemed to be chained behind his back. But before Bard could see to the end of the chain, someone stabbed him.

Well, not someone. Smaug, of course. Smaug stabbed him.

Bard had a choice. He could either topple back and plummet into a certain death, or topple forward and virtually meet the same thing, only maybe a bit later. That was the better of the two horrible options. Bard forced his body to fall forward, clutching both hands on the wound.

Oropher bolted towards the tower the second Bard disappeared from their field of vision. Before Sam got anywhere close to stopping him, he was already halfway up.

“Grappling hooks,“ Sam hissed over his shoulder.

For what they knew, the monster didn´t know they were there yet. He intended to keep it that way as long as possible.

The moon came out.

Either Smaug´s aim was really that horrible or he was not aimimng for the heart on purpose. Watching someone bleed to death was probably more amusing to him than just ending it.

“You brought friends?“ he sniffled, circling around Bard.

His nose twitched like the one of a bunny. Dangerous, man-eating bunny.

“That is so sweet. I´ll save some for _later_.“

He circled him once more and made a strange gesture with his left hand. As if he was lifting a very fine handkerchief out of thin air. Thranduil opened his eyes and grunted immediately. Being awake hurt.

“Magic is amazing,“Smaug said, “but nothing beats a blunt object to the head, trust me. Look who came to visit, Thranduil.“

“Bard... _what did you do to him?!_ “

Smaug dragged him out of the other man´s reach and pushed him back to the ground. Thranduil wouldn´t take his eyes off Bard and Bard wouldn´t take his off Thranduil. He wanted to speak or scream a warning but all his energy was now concentrated on bleeding as slowly as possible. He could feel his life escaping, with ever breath a little more of it was gone.

“He´s bleeding,“ Thranduil said, still not turning to look at Smaug, “he will die if you won´t let me fix him!“

“That is exactly the plan, my dear,“ Smaug smiled, “ and also your fault. You shouldn´ have figured all that out. You should have believed there was no good in the outside world and he would still be alive and well. And you would have been happy here, with me and everything would be just fine. But with all of this... I´ll just toss you on the pile of bling and that will be good enough for you.“

Thranduil still wouldn´t look at him. He was trying to remember whether he had ever read something about how long would it take for a man to bleed out.

“Let me fix him,“ he repeated, losing control over his voice, “please let me fix him...“

Oropher screamed when he attacked. It was a mistake many people do but it was natural. It lets out something primal in a person, it gives us courage before we slay our demons, it gets out before we manage to stop it.

Even though he lost the moment of surprise, Oropher managed to plunge his sword deep into that one pretty critical spot between the shoulder and the neck. Quite a load of blood appeared but not as much as was pooling under Bard at the moment. Smaug seemed to be annoyed at best. He barely looked at his attacker, just grabbed him and tossed him aganst the wall like a rag doll. The impact punched the air out of the king´s lungs, his head hit the stone. Thranduil saw red appear on the hite of Oropher´s hair.

Men started to appear in the window, one after another, quick, agile and armed. With a lot of screaming and very little hesitation they attacked.

And failed just as quickly. Smaug didn´t even bother to use his powers. Thranduil winced at ever snap of a neck, every crack of a skull. It was like sending chickens to fight a wolf.

Sam hated being blinded by his own blood but considering the unnatural angle in which the necks of three of his men were bent, he considered himself lucky. He used the moment Smaug was occupied with the soldiers to crawl over to Oropher.

He was alright, more or less, except for the bruise at the back of his head. The bleeding had been  a bit excessive, dying several strands of his hair red. He opened his eyes when the captain touched him.

“Sam...“

“Shhh. We need to get you out of here.“

“No. I can´t leave him, Sam,“ the king whispered, “I failed my child once, I am not doing this again. I´ll think of something, Smaug won´t mind me if he still think I´m out, don´t send any more men in, Sam, that would be suicide, just go.“

“Oropher...“

“Sam, go,“ the kings repeated, clutching the captain´s arm, “this is an order from your king. If Bard doesn´t make it our of here, take care of his children.“

“There is no way in hell I am leaving you here,“ Sam hissed.

“ _An order from your king_ ,“ Oropher repeated.

The captain felt he was protesting more out of a habit than anything else. He had known thing were going to get ugly, only had failed to imagine how ugly precisely. His men were dying. Oropher was doing the least horrible at the moment. Getting out of there and leaving him to wait for a moment when Smaug wouldn´t be paying attention was probably the least lousy option.

“I love you,“ Sam sighed.

Oropher smiled. “I know.“


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go, guys!  
> Thank you so much for the feedback, made me super happy, as always <3 I hope you´ll enjoy this one. I might slap on a epilogue after the last chapter because I kinda underestimated how long it will all take, lol. We´ll see.  
> Don´t hesitate to tell me anything! Love y´all! :3

Bard had heard about the swan song before. The last wave of energy before one´s life packs its bags. People sometimes mistook it for pulling through. He didn´t.

Quickly thinking how much time he had left and what he could do (the answer to both was not much), Bard pulled himself up against the wall, swallowing a groan.

_Do I have internal bleeding? How do I know I have internal bleeding?_

Who cared at this point. Not fare from where he was doing his bleeding, he saw the king. There was some suspicious red in his hair but he seemed fine otherwise. He kept carefully glancing between Smaug and Bard, assesing the situation. Bard could almost see the wheels of his mind turning. Oropher was preparing to do something, though he didn´t know what exactly himself.

Bard couldn´t process how calm the king was.The man who had barely left his palace in the last two decades was facing his worst nightmare with a face of someone who was getting ready to kill a really big rat. Which was not the appropriate face to have in this situation.

Then again, there weren´t many things left in the world that would be worse than what Oropher had already gone through. Losing a child and then a beloved wife, waiting for ages to heal and then ripping it all open again, that was a difficult thing to top. Such things really mess up a person´s standard of horrible experiences.

_And half of it is my fault. What does that mess with?_

Thranduil´s hair was bathing the ugly picture of a slaughter in a soft, pleasant light. It looked like a cruel joke of a painter.

Smaug pushed aside a broken body of a young soldier.

“How is this for ´I told you so´ huh?“ he turned to Thranduil. “The world is a place where bad things like me happen to people like your dear friend over there. Or your royal _papá_.“

He scoffed. “What a ridiculous man."

This was the first time Thranduil looked away from Bard. Bard didn´t want to imagine what must have been going through the other man´s mind, it was almost as painful as being stabbed in the stomach. This was the frist time Thranduil saw his real father in twenty-eight years and he was looking at a _corpse_.

Bard held his breath as Smaug walked over to Oropher and kicked him. Oropher didn´t make a sound. He played dead very convicncingly but Bard still saw his face twitch under the veil of his hair. Smaug didn´t notice. He was sure he had already won.

“Do you want to know why I took you that night? Now when we have our little reunion here? Because you´re _pretty_ and you´re _shiny_. Without the hair you´d be just another paper white child but like this... That´s what I like. Things that are pretty and shiny. And when I like something, I take it. If people weren´t so unbelievably useless, someone would have stopped me already. But since nothing seems to be changing regarding their uselessness,“ one more mocking glance in Oropher´s direction, “I think I´m just going to keep doing it.“

_So it is really just about the hair._

_Not even the actual power._

_Who does this?_

_Who ruins lives just because they want something pretty?!_

Smaug knelt down and pushed a glowing strand of hair out of Thranduil´s face.

“You know, I didn´t mean what I said earlier. You are more than just a pretty thing to me, alright? In a way, I do love you like a son. We can still make this work. We´ll find some other place, somewhere nice, and we could still live like before all this mess. What do you think about that, hm?“

Thranduil looked at Oropher´s body, at the pool of blood under Bard and when he spoke, his voice was vibrating with rage.

“Never, in a million years will I _ever_ stop trying to get away from you. No matter where we´ll go, no matter what you´ll do, I will always find a way to get out. You´ll have to chain me to the floor and even that won´t be enough. One day you´ll stop paying attention, one day you´ll slip and I´ll be gone with a blink of an eye. I don´t care if it takes another thirty years. I´m patient. I can _wait_.“

Smaug´s smug expression darkened and his abnormally slender hand curled up into a fist. Bard used the moment to kick his knife over to Oropher. If there was a time for the king to attack again, it was certainly when someone was about to hit his child.

Thranduil, however, wasn´t finished yet.

“But,“ he continued and his tone shifted from threatening to pleading, “if you let me save Bard, I´m yours. It will be just like before! That´s what you want, right? You just said so. Let me fix him and you can have it. You can have _me_. I´ll stay with you forever.“

Smaug was clearly reluctant to take such an offer. Bard could see how much he would rather make Thranduil watch some more people die. But he still decided to act against his better judgement and loosened the chains. Thranduil was with Bard within a split of a second. Bard wrapped one arm around him and pulled him as close as the wound allowed.

“I´m sorry I´m dying on your birthday,“ he whispered, face hidden in the curve of Thranduil´s neck.

_Idea._

Thranduil aggresivelly wiped the tears off his face. “What? No, you´re not dying! Shut up and let me do this!“

He was fighting at several battlefronts at once and this one was crumbling.

“I can´t let you do this,“ Bard said and grabbed Thranduil´s wrist, “ you have to get away from this creature, Thran. It´s too late anyways. I´ve lost way too much blood.“

_This will never work. There is zero guarantee that it will change anything. He wil still take him. He won´t let him go_.

“Did you just call me Thran?“ Thranduil sniffled, desperately trying to focus on everything but the ´late´a and ´blood´ part, “I like it. Wish you have done that sooner.“

“I wish I have done plenty of things sooner,“ Bard admitted.

Everything got so much colder before he even finished the sentence.

_This is it. Now or never._

Bard leaned into a kiss. Thranduil didn´t notice his hands slowly pulling the still glowing hair together above his nape. Their face were barely an inch from each other when Bard cried out the order.

“Oropher, cut!!!“

Later nobody knew, what exactly happened, not even Oropher and he was the one who had done it. He just remembered the pressure of the blade against the hair and the sound it made when it came through. He cut Bard´s hand by accident.

Thranduil recalled only a giant weight being lifted from him. Not figuratively speaking, it was the actual huge weight of the endless feet of hair that dropped from his back. The following lightness was so sudden he thought his head was going to break off of his shoulders and float away.

Bard didn´t remember anything because that was the moment he died.

* * *

They waited hidden in the trees. Sam forgot to breath several times. He had believed that Oropher would get a shot at Smaug eventually but the longer it took the more Sam´s doubt started to overcloud the faith.

“I shouldn´t have left him there,“ he whispered to himself. “He´s going to die.“

The next second the top of the tower exploded so Sam didn´t have to deal with the dawning realization.

The debris went everywhere. As if a barrell of gun powder blew up in that room. Smaug spread his wings and let out a growl that sounded like it came from the core of the earth. Sam wasn´t even surprised anywhere. One look at the dragon in his full form and a person would immediately expect him to make this exact sound.

“Get ready to fire,“ he said sharply.

The archers, comfortably settled in th trees, prepared their bows and lit their arrows. They had enough time to think about how they were going to shoot if there was a need. They were mostly young, there were two who hadn´t hit their twenties yet.

Sam looked up at them and sent a silent prayer to whichever god was listening, that these boys would make it out of here alive. They wouldn´t wait for Smaug to fly. Once he was in the air, thing would get much more difficult.

“Fire!“

The order was repeated through an entire circle they had created around the clearing. Arrows flew. The regular ones had no effect, they pointlessly broke on the scales, but the stronger ones, bigger ones which resembled harpoons more than arrows, those hurt.

Sam saw one pierce the wing.

“Aim for the wings!“ he screamed immediately.

_This son of a bitch isn´t flying anywhere._

They needed to get him to the ground. He would still breath fire but they could deal with that better from the ground then from the air. Where he could set the whole forest on fire within seconds. Like this he would be limited. At least somehow. Sam hoped.

_What did Oropher do to make him loose it like this?_

The men on the ground were ready. Sam had to admire they were still there. The uncertainity of the previous long walk seemed to be scarier to them than an actual dragon. When the attack was right in front of you and you didn´t need to worry about it coming from somewhere unexpected, things got easier. You knew what you were fighting.

It was still a dragon but at least you knew that now.

Smaug spat a few fireballs in random directions but the arrows were flying from everywhere. Even the regular ones, despite not doing pretty much any harm, were clearly annoying him. He eventually did what Sam wanted him to do – got down on the ground. Everything shook under the weight of the creature.

“Charge!“ the captain screamed.

Smaug was anticipating the attack from the front but still couldn´t wrap his head around the men in the back. In fact, he was sort of useless. A big scaly thing that wielded its size like a weapon but didn´t realize the disadvantages. He couldn´t see his tiny enemies very well, it was dark. The clearing wasn´t big enough for the dragon to unleash his full potential. Despite knocking the trees over like paper cut-outs, leaving deep gashes in the ground and scorching several men seconds after the order had been give, Smaug did not have the upper hand. The small humans had caught up with the situation very quickly.

They went for the legs first. Smaug couldn´t reach them when they were under him and for some reason he didn´t think about just squishing them.

_Increase in size, decrease in intelligence? Aren´t the villains in these scenarios supposed to be super intelligent?_

Sam slashed what he hoped to be a very important tendon. He assumed dragons had important tendons in the same places people usually did, only hidden behind a thick armor of scales. This one was probably the one, because it did throw Smaug off balance. He automatically put his entire weight on one side and collapsed directly onto the tower.

The rest of the thing toppled over as if there wasn´t anything holding the bricks together at all. Sam could swear he heard a scream but among the roaring and yelling around it was difficult to tell if it belonged to Oropher or not.

The tower crumbling sent an unexpected amount of dust in the air. Sam blindly stabbed in the direction of the biggest shape and felt his sword slide into flesh. Something kicked him back with a force of an angry herd. Smaug was collecting himself.

Sam hadn´t given out any orders since they had attacked yet the men seemed to know exactly what to do. They were regrouping quickly and efficiently, fighting an actual dragon same as they would fight the enemy´s army, absolutely unphased by his mythical essence or whatever. And it was _dark_. The attitude, which had worsened so much over the full day of pointless walking on the same bloody spot, was back to normal. Maybe even better than normal. Given how long these men went without any fight besides the training, it was really incredible.

Sam caught his breath and rolled over just in time for a fireball to miss him. Another one followed, licking his upper arm. The leather stopped most of the heat but Sam could stlil feel it. It prompted him to get on his feet as quickly as possible. The dust was settling but the proximity and size of the creature were beginning to affect Sam´s orientation. It was as if the whole world was the dragon now. The captain felt slightly useless. Smaug turned around, crushing two men under his feet, sending another three flying with a flip of his tail. He spat fire into the trees from where the arrows had flown from earlier. Not everyone made it down in time, those who did stayed on the ground, covering their heads. Some trees further into the forest caught fire.

The smoke made it difficult to breathe. Sam began to think that maybe things weren´t going so great after all. He was getting tired from the constant stabbing into various parts of the dragon´s body while the dragon himself barely noticed him. Blood was starting to pool in the trampled grass, the ground was soaked. Somehow the captain was suddenly coming across way too many bodies.

Someone grabbed his shoulder. It was Anton. Sam didn´t even know he had been with them in the first place. His face was striped with drying blood, his head was badly bruised.

“Sir, this is going south really fast,“ he exhaled sharply and tried to wipe the sweat and dirt off his face, “I though we could handle it but we´ve been stabbing forever now and he just won´t bloody die! I´m pretty sure Patrick sent an arrow where this beast´s heart should be and _nothing_. We need to find the king and retreat, I´m sorry, sir.“

“I don´t think that´s an option anymore,“ Sam replied, “either we kill him or he´s gonna kill us, all of us. Those are the options.“

“Not great options, sir.“

“I know, Anton. I know.“

Sam patted his underling´s back and it seemed so stupid he had to chuckle.

“Would you believe I felt so confident just a moment ago?“ he added. “This is what I get for that. I jinxed us.“

He adjusted the sword in his hand, its blade black with the dragon´s blood (which was a little reassuring, not going to lie) and headed into the rucus. If he could make his way to the ruins of the tower, maybe he could find Oropher still alive. And send him away.

_There´s noone else. Oropher doesn´t have an heir. If the boy died here too, there´s noone else who could take the throne._

The realization nailed Sam to the spot. This just made things a hundred times worse. If Oropher was dead, it basically meant war. The kingdom ripped apart between the hyenas that were the neighboring countries. Maybe even the Underground king would come to take a bite. There was no more blue blood to bear the crown. The family ended with Thranduil.

When Sam forced himself to snape out of it, he found out he was staring into the toothed void of Smaug´s maw. His head appeared out of nowhere. The captain could see the fire brewing deep inside the creature´s throat.

It was one of those times when everything stops, except for death, death just keeps moving closer.

Sam took a breah as deep as posible in the cloud of smoke and stench of blood, and was getting ready to die. The air vibrated with a thunder collecting in the dragon´s lungs. But instead of a thunder a small choked hissing sound came out instead. Smaug´s head sort of plopped onto the ground, very much not majestically or threateningly, the fire in his throat sputtered a bit and then died out.

Sam looked up just in time to see Oropher pulling a sword out of Smaug´s eye.

The dragon was dead.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we´re done! The last chapter! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting and compliments and just overall everything, I nejoyed it so much mostly because of you, guys <3 It´s been great! I´m definitely gonna come up with some new story, I have a few ideas and I think I´m gonna stick to adapting fairytales to barduil for now, because that ship is just perfect :3 I hope you´ll come back for more. <3
> 
> Thank you again! I hope you´ll enjoy the last chapter.

Bard was dead.

No heartbeat, no breath. When the tower fell, Thranduil tightly hugged the body, ready to follow to whichever realm Bard´s soul had been taken.

Nothing mattered. Everybody who cared about him was dead. People who didn´t deserve it were dead. People who didn´t even know him were dead. Only Smaug was still alive. Thranduil didn´t care for a world where that was a reality.

To his disappointment, the fall of the tower didn´t kill him. The landed hard, on a pile of bricks and wood. A firework went in front of Thranduil´s eyes, followed by red, as he hit his head on what appeared to be what was left of his bedframe. It hurt but it also didn´t matter.

“Why did you do this? Hm? What am I supposed to do now?“ Thranduil whispered between sobs into Bard´s quiet chest. “What are you children supposed to do, you idiot? If you had just let me....“

He tried to wipe his eyes but the dust and dirt stung so he just let the tears drop and soak Bard´s shirt. Once again, it didn´t matter.

Something moved next to him. Some walked past him, stumbling over the bricks and grunting. Thranduil didn´t look up, not even when that someone´s hand lightly touched his shoulder. He ignored the screams, the fire, the smoke. He ignored the broken bodies landing within his reach. He ingored the strange hiss and thud that eventually happened. He ignored the emerging cheer of those who survived.

The smoke began to clear.

“I wanted to tell you things,“ Thranduil said, twirling a strand of Bard´s hair around his finger, “I _should_ have told you things. People shouldn´t put it off because then this happens and you´re left with nothing but pain and frustration and regret.“

He swallowed the tears and inhaled sharply. The air almost didn´t taste like tar anymore. Thranduil pulled himself up and lifted Bard into his arms, as if he was asleep. He even looked like he was asleep. Thranduil knew very well what Bard looked like asleep and right now he hoped to have that memory forever because nothing else was left.

“Do you remember when I asked you about how people know they´re in love?“ he said, face turned to the sky. “I was asking because I wasn´t sure if I, by any chance, wasn´t a little bit in love with you. Turns out I might have been. Maybe not a little, maybe a lot. If I knew this was going to be the end of us, I would have just told you.“

Thranduil brushed the hair off Bard´s face and kissed him. It was the first time he had kissed anybody and he wished, with all his heart, that Bard´s lips weren´t cold and unfeeling, that his arms would pull him closer, that his heart would race, because that was how first kisses were supposed to go, not this, not on a pile of debris, with death everywhere, not with this amount of tears.

They dropped on Bard´s face like little sad pearls.

“Thranduil.“ It was his father´s voice.

He wasn´t dead. It rang clearly through the limited memories Thranduil had, as clearly as if he had been hearing it every day for the past thirty years. It was painful. Thranduil had to almost force himself to turn his head and look into his parent´s face.

Oropher didn´t say anything. They just looked at each other, silent, for what felt like centuries. They each saw themselves in the other one´s face, even under the bruises and mess. Neither of them knew where to start.

“You are so beautiful,“ Oropher finally said and his voice broke at the very first word, “you´re everything your mother dreamed off. You even have her nose.“

Thranduil urgently reached for Oropher´s hand. He needed reassurance that he was real, that it wasn´t a ghost or a halucination that spoke to him. He needed to feel his father´s heartbeat through his palm, he neeeded the touch of someone _alive_ to serve him as an achor because he was so damn close to drifting away from his senses right now.

Oropher pressed lips against his son´s hand and Thranduil felt tears on his skin. They were happy tears, without a doubt, but he was still sick of them. He was sick of tears. Any kind of tears.

“I´m never letting go of you again,“ the king said and it sounded as if he was ready to tear anyone who´d doubt him limb from limb, “no evil will ever touch our family again, I promise. I _swear_.“

Thranduil finally allowed himself to collaps into his father´s arms.

“I missed you,“ he whispered into Oropher´s shoulder, “I didn´t know it but I did. Always. I missed you, _ada_.“

The moon was shining again. Now when the smoke had dispersed, the path for its light was clear. It brought the illusion of peace into the scene, the scales of the dead dragon glistened in the white light like a pile of silver coins. The survivors started to look for their fallen comrades and gather the bodies to take them home for a proper burial.

Sam Redgrave oversaw the process in a desperate need of a cigarette. He was calmer now when he had seen Oropher alive and well, but still far from _calm_. His legs were shaking.

_I´m too old for this. I should stick with warming up the king´s heart and bed and drop everything else._

“Captain, we are almost ready to leave, Nobody wants to stay here anymore. Maybe you should get His Majesty.“

Anton was rubbing his hands together in a pointles effort to get the blood off. His palms were practically black.

“The king is _alive_ , right?“ he added when he didn´t get an immediate answer.

Sam laughed. “Alive? The king slew the goddamn dragon, young man.“

Anton´s jaw dropped. “You´re kidding.“

“I am most certainly not,“ Sam shook his head. “Go and prepare to leave. We´ll catch up.“

While Anton was still wrapping his head around the idea of Oropher slaying... well, _anything_ , he walked up the pile of bricks. The king was sitting there with Thranduil in his arms. The prince´s hair was short and pitch black now. Bard´s body was nearby, horribly silent.

Sam cleared his throat. “Sir, we are about to leave.“

“Alright. We´re coming, Sam,“ Oropher replied and nodded towards Bard. “Take him, please. We need to... you know. His children.“

Sam understood. There was a large dark stain on Bard´s shirt. It was pretty clear what had happened. Sam leaned over the body to lift him up when something caught his eye.

“Oropher, is there a reason why this man should be glowing?“

What started as a mere speck of light under the skin of Bard´s left cheek was quickly growing and spreading. It ran down his neck and across his chest in dozens of thin vein-like streaks. All of them ended under that dark stain. In the wound.

The light grew, engulfing them in a whole giant bubble of it. Sam could feel the air resonating. Thranduil stared at it happening, clueless. Oropher´s face, however, showed more hope every second.

There was a moment of complete white blindness before the bubble exploded.

When their eyes recovered, Bard was sitting up, groaning.

“I have the biggest bloody headache-oh!“

Thranduil practically threw himself at him before Bard realized where he was and what was happening. Confused beyond measure, he hugged Thranduil back, running his hand through the new choppy haircut.

“Right... that happened.... oh. Oh! _That_ happened! Are you...? Is everyone...?“

Bard pushed Thranduil away so he could look at him properly. “Are you alright?!“

“Bard, you´re _alive_!“ Thranduil´s face went through an impossible range of expressions within several seconds.

“Wait, was I not... alive?“ Bard frowned as the realization slowly creeped into his mind. “I remember passing out but...“

“Stop talking,“ Thranduil said sharply and then kissed him.

Properly. Alive. No tears. With arms pulling him closer and heartbeat picking up its pace. A re-do for his first kiss that had turned out to be so unfortunately horrible. It didn´t matter that Bard hadn´t heard anything Thranduil had said to him earlier. It was all in that one single kiss.

* * *

“I still think it was way too easy. Are we sure he´s dead?“

“Bain, it´s been three weeks, can you _not?_ “

“I´m just saying, ifI were a powerful warlock, I wouldn´t be killed by a stab in the eye.“

Smaug´s death ahd been a topic of ninety percent of the conversations led at Bard´s table since his return. Bard hadn´t told them of his own temporary demise and was´t planning too. His children didn´t need to know that he had died.

Instead he told them of Thranduil´s bravery and his reunion with the king, Oropher´s big moment (he admitted to Bard that he had not idea if that sword was going to be long enough to actually kill the dragon and not only visually impair him), Sam and his men´s fight...

He left out most of the grisly details. Tilda asked him to tell the story again and again. She especially liked that part where Thranduil kissed him. Bard liked that part too. When Thranduil had made this step, he had taken the responsibility off Bard. A border had been crossed and Bard no longer had to worry about making a decision to cross it.

“I´m off to the palace,“ he said and got up. “Thanks for the soup, Sigrid, darling, it´s amazing.“

“I know,“ Sigrid grinned.

She had upgraded her mother´s recipe.

Tilda kissed her da goodbye and Bain tossed him his coat. “Say hi to the king from us, da!“

“I totally will.“

The palace was now automatically opened to him. Oropher had told him he did want to discuss whatever had developed between Bard and Thranduil, but needed time. Not only for the physical wounds to heal but to get used to the fact that his son was back. No matter how happy of a fact that was, it was difficult and painful in a way.

Bard understood.

But Bard also wanted to see Thranduil.

“I´ll never get used to this,“ he said after their welcome kiss and he ran his fingers through Thranduil´s new hair. “It suits you but still...“

The palace barber got it into a presentable shape but it was still pretty obvious it had been simply chopped off. And it was still black as the blackest night.

“Father said I look like my own evil twin,“ Thranduil chuckled

“You know what, he´s kind of right!“ They walked up into the winter garden.

“How are...things?“ Bard asked carefully.

Thranduil sighed. “I think he´s afraid to be happy. Things are great and he fears that something else will come along. I´m not surprised, I´m not quite there yet myself. But we can make it.“

“And Sam?“

“An extraordinary man. He loves him,“ Thranduil smiled, “and decided that he does no longer care who knows it. I approve.“

Bard looked at him with suspicion. “You talk differently.“

“Do I? I can´t tell. It´s possible. Everyone here is so fancy...“ Thranduil´s look wandered off.

“Should I be worried?“ Bard asked . “Are you going to be too fancy for my family one day?“

Thranduil looked directly at him. “Never,“ he replied sharply.

“Good,“ Bard smiled, “I would hate to loose you to the world of impeccable manners, porcelain bowls, lace, velvet curtains and I don´t know what else. That would be a really pointless loss.“

“That won´t happen, Bard,“ Thranduil shook his head, “I told you, remember? I love you.“

Bard´s expression hinted he did not remember.

Thranduil realised why and unsuccesfully tried to keep himself from blushing. “Right, you were... indisposed, when I said that. I forgot.“

“I didn´t think I could ever be in love again after Myra died,“ Bard said quietly, “and yet here we are. You came along and everything is different.“

“Is it a good different?“

“It´s the _best_ different,“ Bard replied, “we´ve written the second half of your story. The one where a peasant falls in love with the lost prince and they live happily ever after.“

* * *

“As I already said, this story suffers from a severe lack of princesses. So did the wedding. It was a year after the prince´s return, on his birthday, in fact. It was beautiful, flowers and lots of white and gold, obcene amount of food so everyone who happened by could eat, just like it usually is in fairytales.

No heir was to come from that marriage, no alliance between powerful houses but at least this story finally got some princesses. The prince´s new husband had, besides a son, two daughters. The king agreed that instead of forcing his son into an arranged marriage, he would let him marry out of love and when the time comes, introduce the new oldest royal granddaughter to the high society in hopes she would find among the nobility a young man to her liking and perhaps be the one to continue the lineage.

Other monarchs deemed this decision stupid, reckless and of little guarantee that it would help his house. The king didn´t care. He attended all the balls, friendly soirées and all the other pointlessly formal events in the company of a certain soldier and made it very clear that that man was more than just his bodyguard. The message was very straightforward – the king wasn´t about to force his son into a relationship with a woman when he hadn´t forced himself in the first place.

And even though the neighbours were shaking their heads, the kingdom was thriving under the rule of the newly enlarged family. The skeleton of the dragon warlock remained where he had fallen. Moss, flowers and weird fluorescent mushrooms grew on it, creating an illusion of the original shape. After a few years, there was a soft, green dragon sleeping on that clearing, made entirely from nature. A reminder that magic was still present in this world but same as almost everything else succumbed to decay and death.

So did love. But the heroes of this story never lived to see that. Their love came to linger on centuries after the children of the children of their children died. Born from a mere coincidence, it waited for another mere coincidence to end it. But such a coincidence was yet to come.“

Sigrid gave Tilda a kiss on a cheek and fluffed her blanket.

“Good night,“ she whispered.

“That was surprisingly beautiful and positive, I did not see that coming,“ Bain admitted when they left the room.

“I know, right? I outdid myself there,“ Sigrid grinned. “The part about love at the end, I almost made myself cry.“

“Is there... you know, someone?“ Bain asked. “Someone among that noble folk who caught your eye? I´d like to know, just in case I´d have to defend your honor or something one day. You know, brother stuff.“

“There is a few,“ Sigrid admitted.

“ _A few?!_ “

“Well I gotta have options, don´t I?“

“Of course, of course. Just pick the right one, Sigrid.“

“Don´t worry, Bain. I will.“

They walked down the corridor, passing the paintings of tall fair predecesors of Oropher and Thranduil. They looked nothing like them and yet, when Sigrid caught a glimpse of her own reflection in one of the mirrors, she didn´t have a feeling of _not belonging_ on that wall with them.

_Hello, ancestors. We are Bard´s children. The ultimate rags-to-riches family and we are here because our father robbed the king and proceeded to fall in love with his son._

_Nice to meet you._


End file.
